Subzero Split: Story of the Tenth Annual Hunger Games
by Inksmith
Summary: For nine years the Capitol has continued the barbaric Hunger Games, and this year, the new Head Gamemaker promises that the Games will have a twist. Follow the stories of twenty-four tributes as they learn about life, love, and loss in the Tenth Annual Hunger Games. **SYOT closed**; rated T for violence.
1. Prologue: A Year to Remember

**Author's Note: **Yes, this is an SYOT, meaning that YOU submit the tributes. If you'd like to take part in these Games, feel free to PM me a filled out tribute description form, which you can find on my profile. You may submit up to three tributes, but I will not necessarily choose on a first-come, first-serve basis. Please try to make your tribute stand out.

Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your tribute's favor!

* * *

**Subzero Split: The Story of the Tenth Annual Hunger Games**

_Prologue: A Year to Remember_

* * *

_Nine years. _Faraday Mikkelson tapped the bridge of her hawk-like nose thoughtfully. _For nine years it has gone on. That's 207 tributes dead._

She allowed a cruel smile to creep across her face. The people of Panem had, of course, been shocked at the first Games. It had seemed more like an empty threat—for what government could possibly instill such a despicable tradition?—but the Capitol killed twenty-three of their children that year, just as they had promised.

It had been a nasty wake-up call, but still those pathetic districts clung to the hope that surely, certainly such a barbaric practice wouldn't be continued. Their hopes were futile, and nine long years had passed with no sign of relent. 207 deaths that they had brought upon themselves.

Faraday gave a short bark of laughter. The Games would continue for many, many more years if she had anything to say about it.

And as Head Gamemaker, she had quite a bit of say in the matter.

Now she ran her long fingers through her sleek dark hair, lost in thought. The Games were great fun for the Capitol citizens, but in the past few years they had grown rather restless with the drab deserts and forests that served as arenas.

She had a lot to prove, this being her first year, but Faraday wasn't worried. She was going to blow them away, the Capitol and President Stane, and the pitiful little districts, too. This arena would mix things up with a nasty surprise, a reminder that the Hunger Games had lasted for one glorious decade and that they would continue on for as long as the districts could fathom.

Yes, these Games were certainly going to be ones to remember.

* * *

Antony Penweather stepped out onto the stage, grinning out at the immense crowd. The spotlights made his shiny silver suit nearly blinding, but the lights quickly dimmed for dramatic effect. The man's curly grey hair sparkled with glitter, and the audience screamed with excitement.

"Ladies and gentleman, allow me to welcome you to our Hunger Games discussion night! As you all know, this year will be the 10th annual Hunger Games, and we're all excited to celebrate a decade of our tradition. First we have the pleasure of speaking to Head Gamemaker Faraday Mikkelson, who will provide us with some insights on what the Games will look like this year."

All across the districts, children gave sharp intakes of breath as the tall, severe woman walked out and sat down across from Antony. This was the woman who, if they went into the arena, would be turning their lives into nightmares. She certainly looked the part, with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun and her black eyes looking out at the crowd in an intimidating glare.

The Capitol citizens cheered dutifully. Yes, this was the person who would be giving them the entertainment they hungered for. Faraday would have a lot of expectations to live up to.

"Welcome, welcome, Faraday! And how are you on this fine evening?"

"Pleased to be here, Antony, and to see all my lovely supporters as well." Faraday plastered a fake smile on as she looked out at the audience.

_An evening of useless banter. _Protocol required that she come here a week before the Games, but Faraday had never cared much for protocol. _Am I here to hype up the Games? Well, they won't need any more hype when everyone sees what I have planned._

"Charming as always, I see." Antony tried to keep any hint of sarcasm out of his voice. "So, we all know that this will be your first year as Head Gamemaker. Can you give us any insights as to how you're planning on designing the arena?"

"Ah, well, I can't give everything away now, can I? Where's the fun in that? But let me just say that I've planned something big for this year's Games. I think the audience will be in for a surprise." She gave them a conspiratorial wink.

"I'm sure we'll all be dying from anticipation in the meantime!" Antony chuckled.

Faraday barely paid attention as Antony peppered her with more questions until their time was finally up and she exited the stage.

"Next up, we have the privilege of interviewing President Stane!" The Capitol citizens didn't have to pretend to cheer as their beloved president stepped into the spotlight, but the districts' people scowled as he came onstage. Dark hair slicked back, he looked rather dashing in a dark suit. He had aged well over the years—but then, it was easy to age well in the cosmetic world of the Capitol.

Faraday nearly dozed off as the two men chatted in an easy manner. Only when Antony asked Stane the final question did her ears finally perk up.

"Fabius, I'm sure we've all noticed that this will be the Tenth Games. What do you think this means for the Districts and the Capitol?"

"Well," the tall man's tone grew more serious, and for a moment his eyes glinted with a wicked light. "Perhaps the Districts thought that Games were only a joke; that we would give them up after the first year. But we have not, and we will not.

"Besides," he added brightly, "they have certainly provided all of us with quite a bit of excitement and fun, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, yes," Antony hurriedly agreed.

"But." His tone grew darker, and his smile turned predatory. "But I'd like them to remember that the Games will continue for many, many more years. The Capitol keeps its promises."

And all around the Districts, people shuddered at the veiled threat.

* * *

The days passed in a blur, and finally the night came. Next morning, the Reaping would finally come upon the children.

Oh, some were excited. But the majority tossed and turned in a sleepless haze, hoping, wishing, _praying _that their name would not be the one to come out of the bowl.

Many a child wished that night that the time would pass more slowly, that it would freeze. But of course, wishes are empty, and finally, morning dawned.

The morning of the Tenth Annual Reaping.


	2. A Glimpse of the Future

_A Glimpse of the Future_

(Tribute List)

* * *

Antony Penweather smirked as he looked down at a crisp sheet of paper. The tributes were all being chosen, and soon they would be arriving at the Capitol.

And _that _was when he would have his real turn in the limelight. The people of Panem would all be tuned in to his face as he discussed the tributes' costumes, personalities, and training scores. Then his biggest night of the year would come—the night where he would interview the lucky children himself. After that there would be plenty of strategy, deaths, and gore to discuss during the Games.

Yes. This was the most glorious time of the year, the time where he finally got all the attention he deserved.

Now he peered eagerly down at the faces and names of the tributes that had been reaped so far. With the experience he had, it was usually easy to predict a winner just by studying the tributes.

**DISTRICT ONE:**

Male: Flynn Larson (IceTigers)

Female: Desert-Rain Anderson (The Giggling Gummy Bear)

**DISTRICT TWO:**

Male: John Patrick Ryan (belle of the ball s2)

Female: Natalie Marie Ryan (belle of the ball s2)

**DISTRICT THREE:**

Male: Damien Tinsel (***me**)

Female: Vosy Enchirid (The Light Holder)

**DISTRICT FOUR:**

Male: Channing Gray (belle of the ball s2)

Female: Brenna Morgan (This is A Creative Name)

**DISTRICT FIVE:**

Male: Trent Stevens (***me**)

Female: Brites Jolt (Caprisky)

**DISTRICT SIX:**

Male: Asher Wilson (IceTigers)

Female: Brooklyn Mace (IceTigers)

**DISTRICT SEVEN:**

Male: Seth Witherton (***me**)

Female: Rixenne Dakota (SafeEyesOpen)

**DISTRICT EIGHT:**

Male: Carter Stark (Hutsune)

Female: Odetta Elizabeth Huckleberry (nsheldonb)

**DISTRICT NINE:**

Male: **OPEN**

Female: Angel Freeman (vanillacupcakeswithsprinkles )

**DISTRICT TEN:**

Male: Flint Hamilton (***me**)

Female: Lynnelle Maryas (cherrybubble)

**DISTRICT ELEVEN:**

Male: Dorrin Thyme (***me**)

Female: Destiny Lemez (***me**)

**DISTRICT TWELVE:**

Male: Obsidian Embers (***me**)

Female: Briar Makenna (Fleeting Glance)

Antony sighed. The Reapings were still being conducted in some of the Districts, so although he was privileged enough to have a current list, he didn't know the names of all the tributes.

_Ah well. I'll find out later tonight, and then I'll make my prediction. _In the six years that he'd been the host, he had only been wrong twice.

A strange feeling came over him as he gazed at the tributes. It was almost as if he was getting a glimpse into the future.

Looking at their determined faces, he felt a slight twinge of curiosity. Just who were these children? What were their stories?

Luckily for him, he would be able to find out in just a few nights.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yes, these are the tributes so far. Submit, submit, submit! Also, my friend _belle of the ball s2 _also has an amazing SYOT with a few open spots that you should check out as well.

*** Note: **None of the tributes created by me have set districts. I have listed them in their ideal positions, but I can easily move them to another district if you want your tribute to be from their district.

**UPDATE: **I have all my tributes, so the SYOT is CLOSED! Thanks, guys! Again, if you reserved a tribute (especially one from an earlier district) please send them to me as soon as you can so I can get started with the Reapings.


	3. District One: My Time is Now

_**District One Reapings: My Time is Now**_

* * *

**Flynn Larson, District 1**

* * *

_Thwack. _The knife slammed into the dummy's heart with considerable force, and Flynn let out a whoop of triumph. Running a hand through his wavy blond hair, he glanced around to see if anyone else had been watching.

_Man, I'm getting _good _at this! _He'd only started training a few months ago, but his aim was already excellent. It was a shame that the Reaping had come so soon—he could've gotten even better with some extra time.

He was surprised that so many people were at the Training Center on Reaping Day, but then again, these _were _Careers. And if they were doing it, then he was going to do it. He would show them all that he wasn't just some spoiled weakling. He would prove that he could be a Career, too—if he wanted to, that is.

"Hey, brat!" A huge, bulky guy with spiky brown hair walked over to him.

_Oh, no. Not him. _Flynn's heart started to pound, but he masked his fear with a big smile. "Jake, my man! How's it going?"

"Oh, I'm just putting in some extra training before the Reaping. Not that I need it, but hey, this is my year! But this isn't about me," he sneered. "What are _you _doing here? What lame excuse did you give your dimwit parents this time?"

Flynn flushed. "Don't talk about my family like that."

"Why not? I think parents that won't even let their son touch a needle deserve to be called dimwits. Maybe if their son wasn't such a baby, they wouldn't have to be so protective of him."

"Take that back!" He stepped toward the boy and tried to look threatening.

"Why? What're you going to do, fight me?"

"Yeah," Flynn snapped, gathering up his courage. "Yeah, I think I will."

"Then bring it on."

Other Careers gathered around them as they dropped their weapons and started to warily circle each other. Jake laughed as Flynn stepped forward. "You're even more of an idiot than I thought."

"Yeah, well, think again," he snarled. Jake hesitated, scowling, and Flynn saw his opening. The guy underestimated him and wasn't prepared for Flynn's speed, so he got a solid hit to Jake's nose. The other Careers gasped as a sickening crack resounded. Blood began to pour from his nose, and he cried out in pain.

Blindly moving forward, Jake grabbed him and gave a short, cruel laugh. "No running away now, brat." Flynn steeled himself as the older boy's fist slammed into his eye. The teenagers watching the fight cheered.

"What the heck do you guys think you're doing?" Rian Thomas, one of the supervisors at the Training Center, ran forward and pulled the two boys apart. "It's the Reaping Day, for God's sake! And if you—" he glared at Jake "—are going to be volunteering today, you'd better keep yourself in one piece until then! How on earth did you let this shrimp do that to your face?"

Jake let out an angry grunt, and Flynn scowled. _Shrimp, huh? _His eye was already swelling shut, but he couldn't help feeling proud about the punch he had given Jake.

He would definitely be getting a black eye, but so what? Hopefully, it would just show everyone how tough he was.

The only thing that worried him was how to explain it to his parents.

* * *

As Flynn cheerfully headed towards Sterling Plaza, where the Reapings would be held, some of the other twelve-year-olds gradually flocked around him.

"Hey, Flynn!" One scrawny kid piped up. "How'd you get that shiner?"

He gingerly brushed his fingertips to his eye, which had become swollen and puffy. Evidence of bruising must have been showing already. "I got in a fight with Jake Carter. I think I might've broken his nose, though!" he smirked.

The guy looked up at him in awe. "Geez, how'd you—" But the swarm of people pushed them forward, cutting his question off. Flynn turned away and searched the crowd until he found the familiar faces he was looking for.

"Greyson! Keegan! Linden!" he hissed. His trio of friends shoved their way towards him.

They greeted each other and chattered excitedly as they stepped into the area marked out for twelve-year-olds, but Flynn suddenly grew serious. "I… I'm volunteering today," he whispered confidentially.

Linden's eyes widened. "What? You're crazy! We're only twelve, Flynn!"

"I know." He grinned, revealing bright white teeth. "That'll make my victory even more glorious."

"But _why_?" Keegan pestered. "Your parents are gonna murder you, you know."

"Nah. They'll leave that to the other tributes. Hey, I'm going to show the whole District what I can do. Then maybe they won't think I'm so weak and babied."

"_I _don't think you're weak," Linden interjected, still looking alarmed by Flynn's audacity.

"Well, yeah," Flynn said, affectionately clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Plus, I really want to see the look on Jake's face when I volunteer instead of him."

The group got a good laugh out of that. For a moment Flynn wavered—could he really leave behind his friends?—but he knew that there was no room for doubt in the Hunger Games. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and focused on the escort stepping onstage.

* * *

**Desert-Rain Anderson, District 1**

* * *

Desert-Rain inhaled and looked down at the outfit resting on her bed. The dark blue dress was nice enough—it might be just what she needed for the Reaping today. Her final Reaping.

"Dezzy!" A small, blonde girl burst into the room, shrieking. "Raz is saying that he's going to volunteer!"

"Don't worry about it, Gwen," she sighed. "Raz is just being stupid, like always. If he has any brains in that thick skull of his, he'll know that he needs more size and training."

Gwen giggled. "He _really _wants to be in the Games, though."

"Yep, I know." Dez sighed. Her fourteen-year-old brother, Raz, was a Career through and through, obnoxious and competitive. She had no doubts that he would volunteer one day and, more likely than not, win his Games. But her? She wasn't like that, and she still wasn't sure what she was going to do today.

"Mom says that you and Raz should go down soon," Gwen said in a softer voice. "You slept all afternoon."

"Well, better to get rest if I'm going to volunteer," Dez yawned, pulling a brush through her wavy blonde hair.

Gwen's eyes widened. "You, too?"

Dez blinked. "Nah, probably not. I was just kidding." Or was she? It wouldn't do to be so indecisive on Reaping day.

"Well, your dress is pretty," she remarked. "Good luck! Mom, Dad, Quinn, and I will be watching you guys in the crowd."

_No pressure, _she thought dryly. She knew what advice Raz would give her, so it was pointless to ask him. She had been certified to volunteer, but so had five or so other girls at the training center.

_Oh, well. _She would see how things played out at the Reaping.

* * *

Dez was pushing her way through the crowd when she saw him. _Grant. _He was quite handsome, with chiseled features and light coppery hair, but the sight of him just brought bile up in her throat.

How long had it been since he'd dumped her? Only a month and a half? But he'd already found another girl, one no doubt prettier than her. As if he'd ever really cared.

She was still bitter, yet she couldn't stop admiring him. She'd tried to deny it to her friends, but part of her, the part that had fallen in love with him, still longed for him. And she wasn't sure that she could ever get over it.

She realized that she'd been looking too long when he frowned in her direction. Hastily, she turned her gaze to the stage, where all eyes were trained on Candi Sandstone, the District 1 escort.

The woman's features were slightly squashed, likely from too many plastic surgeries. This year her hair was a strange, glittery silver. Her dress was so sparkly that it hurt to look at her.

"This year, we're going to change things up and start right off with the Reapings!" Candi chirped, heading over to one of the giant glass bowls containing the names. "It's the ladies' turn this time!"

An unexpected rush of anger coursed through Dez as she glimpsed Grant nudging his friend and rolling his eyes her way. And in that instant, she knew what she was going to do. She had to show him that she didn't need him, that he didn't deserve her. She would come back from the Capitol with fame and riches, and she would laugh in his smirking face.

"Lavender Frame!" Dez bolted for the stage, flying through the air as she screamed as loudly as she could. "I volunteer!"

Candi stepped back in surprise as Dez flew towards her, taking the microphone. "I'm Desert-Rose Anderson."

For a moment she was inwardly dismayed. Had she really just done that? But then she found Grant's stunned face in the crowd, and a satisfied smile crept over her features. She smirked and settled down on one of the chairs provided for her. If she was really in this, she would have to find out who her district partner was.

"Now for the young men!" Candi reached into the bowl and pulled out a slip. "Ingram Lee!"

There was the usual mad rush as hulking guys raced to the stage, but one skinny blonde kid from the twelve-year-olds section sped ahead of the pack, grabbing the microphone. Dez stared in astonishment.

"The name's Flynn Larson," he declared. Somewhere at the edge of the stage, a teenager gave a furious howl.

Dez sighed. There was no way that the kid had been certified. Sure, he was tall for twelve, but the Center very rarely certified children under sixteen. Some people at the Training Center were going to be very upset—not that it mattered. The guy probably wasn't going to get back home to face them, anyway.

"Shake hands, tributes!" Candi piped. Dez firmly took the boy's hand, noting that he had a recently acquired black eye. Typical. He had obviously tried to pick a fight with an older Career.

"And after that excitement, let me remind you of how this lovely tradition came about…" Dez stopped listening as the escort drawled out her speech, wondering about the decision she'd made.

Hopefully, it had been for the better.

* * *

**Flynn Larson, District 1**

* * *

"But why, Flynnie, why'd you have to do it?" Ariel Larson burst into tears for about the twentieth time that hour.

"There, there." Her husband patted her on the back. "Flynn is strong. He'll be fine." Even he sounded slightly uncertain.

"He could have at least gotten training!" she sobbed.

"Uh, yeah. About that…" Flynn trailed off. Better not to make things worse than they already were by telling them about his secret excursions to the Training Center. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm gonna win. You'll see. I can do more than you think, you know."

Ariel was obviously past the point of comfort. She moaned in grief as the Peacekeepers came and escorted Flynn to the train.

He sighed and stepped into the plush car, practically drowned by his mother's tears. She just couldn't understand his capabilities.

He was also emotionally drained from saying goodbye to his friends. It was the only time that he had really felt a twinge of regret.

Flynn was just sitting down next to that girl—Sand-Rose or something, he couldn't remember—when a bulky figure barreled into the train and tackled him.

"You _idiot_!" snarled Jake, primal rage burning in his eyes. "First you crack my nose, then you steal my spot! It was my year!"

"S—sorry," Flynn gurgled, his throat clenched between the older boy's hands. Where had the Peacekeepers gone?

"Get off him," an icy female voice ordered. Flynn vaguely saw his district counterpart pointing a knife at Jake's side. "Now."

Jake scowled but released Flynn's neck. "Oh, so it's you, Little Miss Elite. Think you're so good with your little bow and arrow, huh? If I was in the Games like I should be, I'd have no trouble carving your heart out."

"Leave."

Jake spat at Flynn's feet and reluctantly exited the car. "I'll enjoy watching you die, Flynnie!" he called over his shoulder.

Flynn shakily got to his feet. "Thanks. What was your name again?"

"Desert-Rose, but I prefer to be called Dez. Wait, let me guess. He's the one who gave you that shiner?"

"Well, yeah, but I broke his nose. I totally beat him up!"

Dez coolly looked the boy up and down. "Mmhmm. I'll take your word for it."

"It's true."

"So, why on earth did you even volunteer?"

Flynn scowled. If anyone asked him that again, he was going to barf. "Why did _you _volunteer?"

Dez hesitated. No way was she going to tell this kid her real reasoning. "I'm eighteen. This is my time."

"Maybe this is _my_ time."

"It could be."

Flynn leaned back, closing his eyes. So he was going into an arena full of brutal kids turned murderers. He could handle that. He would surprise everyone.

This year was going to be Flynn Larson's time.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yay, first Reaping officially done! I'm sorry to Dez's creator- I know I changed a lot about her, but I think it'll work out better in the end.

On a side note, please review and tell me how I did! Remember, the sponsor system won't start until the Games, but you can start earning points now. Reviews will be worth 5 points each.

I'm still waiting on my District 2 tributes, so I don't know how long it'll be until the next chapter. But never fear, I'll be back!


	4. District Two: One Winner

_**District Two Reaping: One Winner**_

* * *

**Natalie Ryan, District 2**

* * *

_Beep. Beep. _Natalie shot up straight in bed at the sound of her irritating alarm clock. Though most girls would have been appalled at the thought of waking up at nearly the crack of dawn, she didn't mind it. She knew it was necessary for her training, and besides, Natalie was not like most girls.

Shutting off the alarm and getting to her feet, Natalie slipped into her usual training gear—black nylon leggings and a skintight blue shirt. Twisting her thick dark hair into a bun, she cast a cursory glance at the mirror and lightly walked downstairs.

Jack was already seated at the large dining table, munching on sausage and eggs.

"You're really eating all that fat?" She asked, scolding. "Just the sight of that grease… bleh. Not the best thing to start your day off with."

Her older brother just rolled his eyes. "I gotta bulk up. I'll be glad for it when I'm in the arena, and besides, you need calories to burn calories."

Natalie shrugged. She herself preferred a much lighter breakfast, and she eagerly dove in to some oatmeal and yogurt. Even if the food was rather tasteless, she would do anything to keep her fitness level high.

Which brought her gaze to the side of the table, where her vitamins awaited. She shuddered slightly at the sight of them. They were obnoxiously colored pills, the same bright hues that had once adorned the magnet letters on the fridge that she had used to spell words with at only eighteen months.

Steeling her stomach, she downed the nasty things and stood up. "We should get going."

"Already? The Training Academy will be deserted at this hour."

A thin smile spread across her lips. "Exactly."

* * *

An indescribable rush of exhilaration shot through Natalie as she hurtled herself through the air, her feet slapping onto the ground as she stuck the landing.

"Very good, very good." A light smattering of applause broke through the air as a slender, dark-haired woman stepped forward.

"Thanks, Anna," Natalie beamed as she wiped beads of sweat from her cheeks. "So you're going to the Capitol this year, huh?"

"It seems that way," the older woman smiled.

"You'll have to keep Jack in line for me, then."

"Ah, that's right. He's eighteen, yes? He'll be volunteering this year."

"He's only been looking forward to it his whole life," sighed Natalie. "I suppose I'm a little worried about him."

"He'll be fine," Anna airily reassured her. "What you need to focus on at the moment is your own training."

"Yeah, instead of discussing mine!" Jack walked forward, curly dark hair glistening with sweat, and elbowed Natalie. "We should go get ready, Nat. I am _not _going to be late for this Reaping."

"I haven't finished my routine yet," she protested. She knew that if she left now, she wouldn't be able to calm down about it. In her orderly brain, things were best if they were routine and completed.

"Go," Anna gently urged her. "Spend a little time with him before he goes off to the Games."

"All right," Natalie groaned. "Just for today."

* * *

**John "Jack" Ryan, District 2**

* * *

Jack lunged forward again and again, fiercely pummeling the punching bag as his fists flashed in a blur. Finally, he began to tire and stepped back, breathing hard.

His curly black hair dripped with sweat and his knuckles ached, but he was satisfied with his workout. If things went the way he planned, that had been his last time training as a virtual nobody.

The next time he came to the Training Academy, he would be Jack Ryan, esteemed victor of the Tenth Hunger Games.

Blinking the sweat from his eyes, he turned to watch Natalie run forward and spring up, flipping and twisting through the air before she landed.

He had to admire her. His main sport, boxing, did require you to be quick on your feet, but it was mostly a matter of some strategy and a whole lot of brute strength. There was something almost magical about the way his sister could fly and flip and spin. It certainly made everything he did seem clumsy in comparison to the grace of gymnastics.

After convincing Natalie to leave with him, the pair arrived at their large manor and stepped inside. The house was deathly silent.

"Please don't tell me that Dad and Kirsty are _still _sleeping," Jack grumbled. "It has to be past noon."

"Dad's at the Justice Building," Natalie reminded him. "He has to give that speech at the Reaping."

"Right," Jack muttered. "Anyway, I'm going to go up and get ready. The cameras are actually going to be on me this year!"

He clambered up the stairs and into his spacious room, whizzing into his walk-in closet and staring around at the piles of clothes.

Jack had never really one for fashion. Him- the boxer who spent every minute of his free time training? Definitely not. Besides, that had always sort of been Natalie's forte.

But now what he wore would actually matter. It would make an impression. So he spent longer than he ever had musing over what look he wanted to go for.

Finally, he decided on a casual style. Pulling on a pair of faded jeans and a tight-fitting black jacket, he stepped outside and bumped into his younger sister.

He couldn't help scowling at the perfection of her clothing choice- tight leather boots, skinny jeans, and a loose sapphire top accentuated by a gauzy, sky-blue scarf.

See, this was why everyone considered Natalie the fashionista. She wasn't even volunteering, for God's sake.

"Time to go," Natalie remarked. "You know that I can't stand being late."

"Okay. Let's get this thing started."

* * *

Jack was surprisingly glad for the sturdiness of the folding chair supporting his back. In most other districts, the children had to stand, but not in District Two. Never in District Two.

If he had been on his feet, he might have been swaying from side to side. Jack hadn't expected to be nervous, but a sudden wave of expectant nausea had overtaken him as he settled down. He just couldn't let it overtake him.

Jack's head jerked up as a tall, severe man with wavy brown hair stepped up to the elaborate stage. He had to remember that his behavior today would reflect on his father, and Mayor Ryan would not be pleased if his son acted like a coward.

"Thank you all for gathering here today for our Tenth Annual Reaping." The mayor's words faded into the background as a sudden rush of adrenaline pounded through Jack's body. His muscles tensed, itching to run up to that stage and scream his name into the microphone. Couldn't they just get all the formalities over with so the actual Reaping could begin?

Finally, Alistair Lloyd took over the podium. The man was covered in tattoos, and his spiky black hair was frosted white at the tips. He looked exceptionally happy to be the escort for District Two this year.

"And without further ado, let's pick our tributes!" His voice was extremely high-pitched, and Jack couldn't help but wince. There was no way anyone could take the guy seriously with a tone like that.

"Boys first!" He strode over to the large glass ball and fumbled for a slip. Jack felt sweat glisten on his brow as he prepared himself, somewhat surprised that his moment had come so quickly.

"Cire Edmonds!" And Jack was rushing, flying with almost Natalie-like speed as he leapt onto the stage and ripped the microphone from Alistair's thin fingers. "I volunteer!"

"My, my," Alistair was unperturbed by the boy's eagerness. "And what might your name be?"

It was a pointless question. Even anyone who didn't already know that Jack Ryan was the mayor's son could've easily seen his resemblance to the man who had just been speaking. But formalities were formalities, and Jack confidently stated his name to the crowd. "I'm John Ryan. Your next Hunger Games victor."

The crowd erupted into applause, pleased to have such a strong young man as their tribute. Glancing over, Jack saw a slight smile cross his father's face. Pride, almost. Jack knew that his father had been happy with his decision to volunteer, and now he needed to reaffirm the faith Mayor Ryan had in him.

"And now, on to our ladies!" Jack grinned out at the citizens, wondering if any girl would volunteer this year.

_Tiffany Ritz might_, he reflected. That girl was deadly with a knife. Then again, she might be waiting till she turned eighteen.

Not that it really mattered who his district partner was. He'd be killing them eventually no matter who they were.

"Natalie Ryan!" For a moment, Jack's mind went blank with shock at the name. Then he relaxed slightly- until he saw that neither Tiffany nor anyone else was hurrying up to take Natalie's place.

_No,_ Jack thought desperately. _No! What were the odds that this would happen?_

Natalie had started at the sound of her name being called, but now she stoically walked up to the stage, her pretty features calm and serious.

_That was Natalie,_ he thought bitterly. Always keeping control of herself, no matter the circumstances.

Biting his lip until it bled, he risked another glance over at Mayor Ryan.

His father was definitely not smiling.

* * *

**Natalie Ryan, District 2**

* * *

Natalie sat rigidly on the edge of her cushioned seat, quickly smoothing out every fold she could find in her blouse. Her keen mind focused on every little detail rather than the matter at hand.

Anything but that.

_Why?_ If only Alistair had called the girls first. Natalie would normally have had a good chance at winning the Games on her own, but with Jack as her competitor? Her chances were cut severely.

"Ahhh!" She moaned, putting her head in her hands. Why was she already calculating how hard it would be to kill her brother?

The door quietly opened, and her two closest friends, Lily and Camille, flew in to sit next to her.

"Oh, Natalie," Lily sniffed. "How did this happen?"

"The Capitol is just going to eat this up," Camille muttered darkly. "You'd better milk it for all it's worth."

Natalie was already dangerously close to snapping, and the presence of her friends made it worse. "I... don't feel like talking right now," she said, her voice strained.

Lily and Camille glanced at each other, and an understanding passed between the two girls. For the rest of their time, they quietly sat next to her, each gripping one of Natalie's hands tightly.

Suddenly she was grateful, so grateful for these girls who knew her almost better than she knew herself. It would be hard to leave them behind.

Next in was her father and stepmother. Kirsty looked close to tears, and her father was staring at the ground.

"I tried to get them to choose a different tribute," Kenneth Ryan said quietly. "But my influence can only go so far, and it doesn't extend to the Hunger Games. You know my position is already in a precarious state."

"It's okay." Her throat started to close up. "I'll do my best, you know I will."

"Yes. And Jack will look out for you."

And all too soon, they were gone and the heavy office door slammed shut with a clang of finality.

But there was one last unexpected visitor. Anna Wintour, her gymnastics coach and friend, rushed in and locked Natalie in a tight, wordless embrace.

"I'm your mentor," Anna told her, her voice muffled by Natalie's shoulder. "I'll be able to help you, Natalie. You'll get through this."

"I'll try," she murmured. But the knowledge that Anna would be by her side comforted her.

* * *

As Natalie settled down beside her brother on the train, there was an awkward moment as they both looked at each other, uncertain of what to say or do.

"I won't let you die, Natalie," Jack said gruffly. "You'll be in the Career pack. With me."

"I don't need your help to survive," she tersely responded.

"I know," he replied, flushing slightly. He turned to stare out the window.

"We'll be in it together," she quickly amended, gripping his arm tightly. Jack turned back towards her, giving a small smile.

"We'll show the Capitol what we're made of."

"Definitely." And as Natalie looked over at her brother, she realized that in a way, it would be nice to have Jack to back her up. But that comfort was only fleeting when she reminded herself that there could only be one winner.

And maybe it made her a horrible person, but she hoped that winner would be her.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sponsor points are up! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far.


	5. District Three: Fly Away

_**District Three Reapings: Fly Away**_

* * *

**Vosy Enchirid, District 3**

* * *

He was coming towards her. The man with the greasy black hair and the sick smile, with his long, bony fingers moving closer.

She shied away as he stepped forward, but he was already done. "I love you, Vosy. Don't tell anyone about this."

"I won't, Uncle," her voice quavered in fear as she darted from the room. The smell of his breath haunted her, tinged with the scent of something putrid but foreign. She knew that she would smell it again. Every time she came to her grandparents' house, he would be there—

* * *

Vosy sat up in her bed, gasping. It was happening again. Her past was coming back in her dreams, coming to torture her. Of course it would do that.

_Don't cry, _she told herself. But her will was too weak, and there was nothing she could do to stop the tears flowing down her face.

Choking back sobs, she tumbled to the floor, fingers closing around familiar coldness as she fumbled under her mattress. She pulled out a small knife.

Carefully, she drew the steel blade across her wrists. Her hand moved deftly, in long, practiced, strokes as she reopened the old scars. There was pain, yes, but it was oddly comforting. Something in her relaxed as dark liquid poured down her arms.

Vosy waited until her breaths became more even, and then she slipped the little knife back under her bed. _Stay there, alright? Just rest there and be my little secret._

Well, not completely a secret. But it didn't matter.

She was calmer now as she got to her feet. Then her brain finally reminded her what today was.

_The Reaping. _She trembled until her whole body shook and flopped back onto her bed, curling up into a ball.

She should be getting ready, she knew that. But she couldn't bring herself to get up, to face the world and the stage and the Capitol escorts.

Numbly, she organized a list in her head. _Get up. _Still shaking, she forced her stiff legs to straighten.

_Put on your dress. _Taking small steps to the closet, she pulled the folded cloth out and examined it. It was a pretty little thing in the bleakness of her room, its beauty out of place in her world. Pink and short with a little white collar, it unfortunately left her arms bare.

Vosy stared down at the marks she had made. It wouldn't do to have the whole District seeing her like this. Reluctantly, she took out a white sweater and slipped it across her shoulders.

_Brush your hair. _She obediently picked up the hairbrush on her dresser and ran it through her wavy brown hair. She supposed she should do something with it, but it just required too much thought and effort at the moment.

Stepping back, she examined herself in her little mirror. _I'm fat, _she decided. _Fat and ugly._ With any luck, she wouldn't be chosen to represent her district, and the Capitol would be spared the pain of seeing her face.

It was at that moment that Stelley chose to burst in.

"You got dressed already? Don't you know the Reaping won't start for another few hours?"

"Yes." Sometimes silence was the best option with her older sister.

"Well, do you have anything else to wear? I look _awful _in my dress," She could tell that the girl was fighting to keep back tears.

"I'm sure you look fine."

"Fine? _Fine? _It's not even close to fine. The whole district will be there, and everyone will whisper about how terrible I look!"

"The only thing they'll be whispering about is how thin you've become."

"Yeah, right. Like you know anything about what they say!"

"I haven't got any other dresses," Vosy snapped. "I'm going to find Tanime."

"That's right, leave!" Stelley shrieked, growing hysterical. "Of course my own sister wouldn't even care about me!"

Vosy sighed. Stelley was growing more unstable by the day—but then, she supposed the same could be said about her.

She walked past her parents, seated at the kitchen table and not saying a word to each other. She was used to the sight. It had been many years since they had actually cared about each other.

"Where are you going?" Elly Enchirid inquired harshly, standing up and gripping her arm. Vosy tensed, ready to flee.

"I—I'm just going out."

Tears filled her mother's eyes. "You do that, sweetie. It is the Reaping, of course. You do know that I love you, right? I only want to be sure that you don't get hurt."

"Yes, Mother." Vosy relaxed, relieved. At least Elly was in one of her good moods. She was erratic at her best, though, and Vosy wanted to escape her home as soon as she could.

"Go, then."

* * *

Vosy stood at the edge of the grassy cliff, gazing out into the sky. Not many people came to the secluded area, and it had become her refuge.

_What if I could fly away from here? Just spread my wings and be gone, like that? _Now would be as good a day as any to make her escape. If she had wings, that was.

She could also escape another way. Flinging herself down there would end it all—but no, she was too much of a coward to do even that.

"Vosy?" A small voice interrupted her thoughts as tiny, painfully thin girl stepped into view. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know," she mused. "I kind of lost track of time."

Tanime gave a high-pitched laugh. "Of course you did. But the Reaping's going to start soon, and you know what'll happen if we're not there." The little girl paled slightly as she mentioned the dreaded event. "C'mon, let's go!"

"Okay," Vosy replied, brightening at the sight of her friend. "May the odds be ever in our favor, huh?"

"I guess," Tanime giggled nervously, and the pair raced towards the middle of town.

* * *

**Damien Tinsel, District 3**

* * *

Damien fiddled with the key in his pocket, running his big hands over its smooth surface. His mind was restless as he ambled towards the square.

_I wish I was at work. _For a brief moment he wondered what his problem was, that he would think something like that. Most of the factory workers were glad to have the day off. But then again, most of them didn't have his mechanical mind, and most of them didn't actually have to attend the Reaping.

For him, the factory was his savior. When most orphans were kept in the community home until they turned eighteen, his mechanical skill had earned him enough to move out on his own. That wasn't to say that his life wasn't difficult—it was, of course. But things were so much better without being surrounded by the crying, starving children in the home. Their sunken cheeks, their hopeless voices made him sick.

He remembered another Reaping, one longer ago. His mother had been lying on her deathbed, and a twelve-year old Damien was confused and miserable. She had whispered to him her last secret, her voice turned hoarse by the fever.

Never would he forget her words. She had told him that Benny Randolph, one of the wealthiest men in town, had stolen the business that had made him so prosperous from Damien's family. Damien's grandfather had been the original owner of the electronic chip warehouse, a privately owned business that had successfully been shipping goods off to the Capitol. Randolph had murdered the man in cold blood, taking the warehouse for his own and leaving Damien's mother a penniless orphan.

Damien fingered the key again. His mother told him that it was a key to the warehouse, and indeed it had worked when he had secretly tested it.

For now, he had to bide his time and lay low. But one day, he would get his revenge and claim what was rightfully his.

One day, all of District Three would know his name.

* * *

He darted into the town center just in time to have the Peacekeepers register him before he slipped into the area roped off for the sixteen-year olds. He barely paid attention as the ridiculous escort hopped onto the stage, giving her annual spiel about who knows what. Finally, she squeaked, "We'll start with the young men today," and trotted over to the ball containing the names.

Damien's mind itched as he thought of how much a waste of time this whole event was. _I could be getting so much done right now, if I was only at the factory—_

"Damien Tinsel!" His thoughts were abruptly cut off as the escort read his name.

He stood, rooted to the spot in shock. The thought of getting chosen had never even crossed his mind. This was impossible!

He forced himself to collect his thoughts. _It's okay. I'm smart. I'll get through this._

At least the whole district knew his name now.

* * *

**Vosy Enchirid, District 3**

* * *

Vosy felt lost and alone in the throng of fourteen-year olds. Tanime's birthday hadn't passed yet, so they were separated. She wished the younger girl was here so she would have someone to steady her—fears were zooming through her mind.

"Damien Tinsel!"

_Oh dear, _she thought mournfully as the boy shakily stepped onto the stage. She didn't know the guy, but his obvious limp caused the crowd to gasp in pity. He looked up and scowled at their reaction.

"And now, for our ladies!" Vosy felt her mouth go dry. Feeling dizzy, she stumbled and gripped the arm of the girl next to her for support.

"Watch it!" she hissed.

"Sorry," she murmured anxiously as the escort chose a slip.

"Vosy Enchirid!"

_What?! _Had she heard wrong? But no, the children around her stepped back and looked at her nervously.

_No. No! _Had this really happened? Why her? Her eyes widened in fear as she convulsed. Her whole body shook, causing her teeth to chatter. She willed herself to move forward, but her feet had frozen to the ground.

"Come on up, Vosy. Don't be shy."

A strange sound came from Vosy's throat. For all her mental efforts, her foot only slid forward an inch. She was grateful when the girl next to her gave her a gentle shove.

_Walk forward. _Finally her legs obeyed, and she precariously wobbled up onto the platform.

"There she is," the escort beamed, pleased to finally have her tributes. But an overwhelming sense of vertigo overcame Vosy as her brain buzzed with thoughts, causing her to topple over. Damien caught her just in time.

"Ladies and gentleman, I give you your District Three tributes!" Vosy searched the crowd until she found Tanime. The girl's mouth was tightly clenched, her eyes shining with tears, but she gave a slight jerk of her head, conveying an unspoken message.

_I'll see you at the goodbyes._

* * *

Vosy buried her face in her knees, curled up in the plush chair. Sobs racked her thin body as she miserably rocked back in forth.

"Vosy." She looked up, slightly ashamed of her tear-stained cheeks. Her mother, father, and Stelley walked into the room.

"H-hello," she said in a small, shaky voice.

Her mother broke the silence by bursting into tears and flinging her arms around her daughter. "Oh, my baby! How did this happen? Don't go!"

Vosy weakly returned the embrace, feeling bitter. Couldn't her mother even attempt to be strong for her? But no, she was in one of her emotional episodes. She prepared herself for a flood of tears and tried to hold her own in.

"It—it's okay, Mom."

"No, it's not!" Elly wailed.

Her father stepped forward and roughly pulled his wife away. She clawed at him in vain. "Ah…" he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, good luck, Vosy. I'm sure will miss you."

Vosy scowled. It was just the kind of insensitive thing her father would say.

Stelley sniffled. "Why'd you have you get picked? Everyone's going to talk about us now!"

"As if they didn't have enough to talk about already," Vosy muttered.

Then the Peacekeepers came in, ushering her family out. Vosy was left feeling rattled. What kind of goodbyes had those been?

Her thoughts were interrupted as a small, dark-haired girl flew in and locked her in a tight embrace. Tanime didn't try to hide her tears, and Vosy was grateful for it. She buried her face in friend's shoulder and let herself cry, faced with the reality that she would probably never see her best friend again.

"You're smart," Tanime whispered. "You have a chance, Vosy,"

"Don't lie," Vosy sobbed.

"No, I'm serious. Come back to me! Please!" The last word was desperate as the white-clad Peacekeepers dragged her away. Vosy was left staring after her best friend, maybe her only real friend.

* * *

Nobody else had come to see her. She supposed all her other friends had been too uncomfortable to say goodbye, but it still hurt.

Now, sitting on the train bound for the Capitol, she tried and failed to keep back tears. They slid down her nose and dripped down onto the thick carpet. Even the finery of the train didn't cheer her up—she felt like she didn't deserve it after all that had happened that day.

The big guy beside her—Damien?—was her district partner. He was melancholy but hadn't broken down like she had.

_Get to know him, _she commanded herself. _He could help you._

Vosy made a weak attempt to make some conversation. "So, how did your goodbyes go?"

"Fine," he tersely replied. "Not that anyone came."

"Oh." Her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He leaned back, stretching out his long legs. "It's not like I have any family, or any time for friends."

An awkward silence followed. Vosy bit her lip. "Aren't you… scared?"

Damien blinked. "Yeah, sure."

"You don't show it."

He sighed. "It's for the cameras. I want to pull in some sponsors, so I have to put on an act."

Vosy swallowed. She hadn't exactly tried to put on a tough act when her name was called.

Damien noticed her discomfort. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. The odds of us winning aren't exactly high.

"But try to be positive, I guess. At least we'll get to experience the Capitol. Maybe… think of it as a new experience. A chance to escape your past and become someone new."

"Yeah," she said softly. "Yeah, I think I'll try to do that."

* * *

Night soon fell. Vosy gazed out the window, above the blur of landscape whizzing by, at the stars. "Now would be a good time to fly away," she muttered to herself.

And that night, as she lay her head down and drifted off to sleep, she didn't have nightmares about her uncle. She dreamed of Tanime and her soaring among the stars, both of them in a happier place.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, how'd you like Vosy and Damien? Just to let you know, if I write a very small amount about one tribute, it's probably because they're one of mine.

So yep, I'm just doing the Reapings out of order for now. It shouldn't matter too much. & no, I don't think I'll be making a blog for this SYOT. I'm feeling a little too lazy for that at the moment... xD

District 4 Reapings should be up within a few days!


	6. District Four: Old Wounds

_**District Four: Old Wounds**_

* * *

**Channing Gray, District 4**

* * *

Channing leaned back, drinking in the sunlight as his little fishing boat lazily drifted across the turquoise waters. The waves were surprisingly gentle today, and the early morning sky glowed a pale pink-blue.

The picturesque scene was quickly interrupted as another small boat silently glided behind him until it got close enough for its occupant to dump a bucketful of saltwater on Channing's head.

"Hey!" he let out a startled cry, much to the amusement of the prankster. "Geez, Mike, what was that for?"

The tall guy doubled over, laughing. "Gotta keep you on your toes, man! You looked a little too peaceful, relaxing out there."

Channing rolled his eyes. "Cut me some slack. I have to relax today, of all days."

Mike's expression clouded somewhat. "So that's it? You're really gonna do it?"

"Yeah. I mean, think how awed everyone will be by me when I'm a victor. I'll get money, a great house-"

Mike coughed pointedly. "Like you need any more money. Or girls."

"Whatever. You can never really get enough, eh? Besides, it's not like anyone else in the District has a better chance of winning than me."

"True, true, Mr. Wonderful."

Channing just ran his fingers through his coppery, sun-streaked hair and flashed a gorgeous grin in Mike's direction. "You wanna sit around here talking all day, or do you want to actually catch some fish?"

"What do you think I splashed you for?"

Smirking, the two boys steered their boats further out into the ocean. Both had been swimming, fishing, and riding in boats ever since they could remember. It was pretty much the only available lifestyle for rich District Four kids.

It wasn't like they actually needed to catch fish, like some of the poorer fisherman. They did it for the sport, and so rarely used nets or actual poles. No, it was much more entertaining to lure the fish to the surface and get a clean stab with a spear or knife—or, in the case of the larger ones, a trident.

"First one to catch a decent-sized one wins," Mike declared. They zoomed across the water until they were a decent distance away from each other and dunked their bait in, hanging at the end of a makeshift fishing rod. Sometimes it could be difficult to get a bite, but not in the 'hotspots' they had found after years of experience. They could usually find a decent-sized catch within a matter of minutes.

After about half an hour, Mike gave a shout, holding up a good-sized fish.

"Yeah, yeah, you win the little contest," Channing called, keeping his attention focused on the water. He had felt a big pull, and he had a feeling that he just might be showing up his friend today.

There it was again. Something huge was pulling at the bait, and he knew what it was. Some giant bluefin tuna haunted the deeper waters, and it was every fisherman's desire to catch one.

Channing quickly tugged the bait away, slowly bringing it farther and farther up until it almost reached the surface.

Finally, he could see the monstrous shape just beneath the water. Gripping the pole loosely in his left hand, he picked up his largest trident, acting with slow, deliberate movements.

_Swoosh. _In a heartbeat, he deftly flung the weapon right through the side of the fish.

The tuna thrashed through the water violently in a futile attempt to slip off the trident. Channing hefted the fish up and into his boat—the little vessel bobbed up and down with the added weight.

"Look what I got here!" he crowed. Mike was already heading over, gaping in awe. The behemoth had to be at least four feet long, skewered through the middle by the prongs of the trident. It was one of the biggest catches Channing had ever made.

"We gotta show the guys down at the docks this monster!" Mike cried. "C'mon, follow me!"

Channing zoomed after his friend, quickly stopping and leaping out of the boat onto the firm wooden boards of the dock.

"Nice," Mike praised, clapping him on the back. "It's a good omen. Means that the volunteering and the Games will go fine."

"Yeah," Channing mused wonderingly. "Yeah, maybe it does."

* * *

**Sofia Coppola, District 4**

* * *

Sofia tossed her thick mane of dark hair over her shoulder as she scanned the crowd lulling about the club, searching for one face in particular.

_There he is. _Nimbly navigated between people, she walked up beside him. "Hey, Chris," she crooned.

"Sofia." His eyes softened at the sight of her. "How are you? I know today must be pretty hard."

She flinched. Did he really have to remind her of that?

It had just been last year. One year since Kim's name had come out of that glass reaping ball. None of the girls had volunteered—that happened sometimes in District Four, where potential tributes were much less zealous about the Games than in One and Two.

So they had left her sister to her fate. She had lasted as long as she could, but the surprisingly powerful outer-district alliance had effectively demolished the majority of the Careers. Including her sister.

Her family had been affected harder than they had expected. She could still remember her father's angry voice as he quit his job, her mother's glassy stare as she laid on her bed.

Money had been running out. The other girls began to avoid Sofia, not wanting to see that haunted look in her eyes…

She remembered that conversation that Chris had had with her.

_"Sofia, I know things are tough for you right now. You're gorgeous… time to use your looks to your advantage. Get in with Channing Gray, and cast your spell on him. Trust me. With him as your 'boyfriend,' all the other girls will envy you. Things will be better, like the way they used to be. He can help out your family if you convince him well enough."_

_ "But what about you?"_

_ "It'll be fine. We can still see each other in secret."_

_ "Okay… I'll try."_

Now she had Channing under her little finger, and life was indeed going well, but she longed for those rare moments when she could steal away to be with Chris.

Sofia stepped closer to him, slipping her arms around his shoulders.

"People are watching," he murmured under his breath.

Yes, there were always people. Too many people. "I don't care," she breathed, and without hesitation, she tilted up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

**Brenna Morgan, District 4**

* * *

_Back and forth, back and forth. _Brenna scowled at the ground as she pushed the broom across the tiled floor in a dull cadence.

Outwardly, she feigned bored disinterest, but her ears were sharply listening until the sound of heavy footfalls disappeared. Abruptly, the front door slammed shut.

"Thank God," she muttered, throwing the broom aside in disdain. Her father, the wealthy Sebastian Morgan, insisted on treating her like a servant when they had more than enough assets to clean their spacious home.

_Sweep the floor. Mop the kitchen. Scrub the windows. _She despised how that satisfied glint appeared in his eyes whenever he ordered her about, taking pleasure in her forced obedience.

_Just wait, _she thought bitterly. Soon she would be old enough to be out on her own, and _that _was when she would really start to live. Away from Sebastian's cold stare and heavy hand.

"Hey, sis." A slim young woman with long, light brown hair swept into the house, leaning on the counter beside Brenna.

"What're you doing here, Brooke?" Brenna rolled her eyes. She couldn't help feeling a little bitter towards her older sister, who had gotten her own little house near the beach a few years ago. She didn't have to endure the chores or insults anymore, and now all the responsibility fell on Brenna's shoulders.

"I dunno. Come to see you before the Reaping, I guess."

_Right. _Brenna's heart lightened somewhat at the reminder that she would get to escape the house for the afternoon, and her expression softened a bit. Even though Brooke could be selfish and catty at times, Brenna knew that her sister cared about her.

"Speaking of which, I should probably start getting ready now. You'll have to tell me how I look when I'm done."

* * *

Minutes later, Brenna stood rigidly in front of her full-length mirror, surveying her reflection.

She was actually pleasantly surprised by the girl staring back at her. Brenna had never given much care to her appearance, but everyone wore their best on Reaping Day. Today a stylish, dark blue dress swept across her shoulders and down to her knees. Simple brown sandals adorned her feet, and her wavy copper hair cascaded down from its ponytail.

_This will do, _she decided, and she promptly spun away from her mirror. She didn't want or need the bother of spreading makeup across her clear features.

A pale object sitting on her dresser caught her eye. Stepping over, she picked up the white pawn and ran her fingers over the smooth wood, a comforting habit she'd grown accustomed to.

_Such a small, seemingly worthless piece, _she mused. _Like me. Like all of us in District 4. _Brenna found no enjoyment in the company of most of the empty-headed District 4 girls. Frankly, she had no idea how they could possibly bear to sit around all day babbling about who knows what.

Now chess—there was something that was actually interesting. She only got to play when she could convince Alice or Ginny to be her opponent—they were understandably reluctant, seeing as Brenna usually overpowered them in a matter of turns—but when she did, she marveled in the pure strategy of it.

Finally, _something _that she was good at.

Her sweaty fingers closed around the piece, and then she headed out to the pier, where the Reaping was going to be held.

"Hellooooo, District 4!" Alexandre Kingsley swaggered up to the microphone, casting a blindingly white grin at the crowd. This year his hair stuck to his scalp in bright blue curls. "As your lovely mayor has just taken care of our formalities, I can now start with what everyone's waiting for right away! This year, gentlemen shall have the privilege of going first."

His long, thin fingers unfolded the crisp white sheet, and he pompously read the name into the microphone. "Kurt Hale!"

This year, as with most, there were a few muscled boys rushing to volunteer. For the life of her, Brenna couldn't imagine why they'd want to do such a thing. But most of them were at least halfway trained, and there was a reason that District 4 had started to be considered a Career district.

A tall, lanky guy nimbly darted in front of the others, taking the microphone and flashing an easy grin. "I'm Channing Gray."

As if _he _needed an introduction. As if there was one person in the district who didn't know his name.

Brenna knew him well enough. Too well. Her mind could still easily recall those days—she had been young, nine or ten?—when he and his huge pack of friends started to smirk at her and whisper things. _Nerd. Weirdo. That girl. _The snide remarks, the pitying looks they would send her. Every day.

God, she hated that guy. The memories of everything he'd done to her and how he bathed in all of the fawning attention he got—it was unbearable.

It would be easier if everyone didn't _love _him so much. Every teenager in the district constantly swooned over him. Listen to any of the girls and all you'd hear was Channing Gray this, Channing Gray that. Sometimes it took every ounce of Brenna's willpower not to grab a megaphone and scream to the whole district, "News flash, ladies—Mr. Perfect Gray isn't everything he's cracked up to be!"

She had never really thought he'd be one to volunteer, but apparently even his current extravagant lifestyle wasn't enough. Typical.

Dark thoughts were still swimming through her head when Alexandre read the girls' name. "Brenna Morgan!"

_What? _Suddenly she felt disoriented. Was that her name? Was nobody stepping up to volunteer?

Her brain sped at a million miles an hour. She had never considered the possibility of getting reaped—District 4 was huge, for goodness sakes! But the unthinkable had happened.

_Strength, _she quickly thought. _I have to show it._ So she kept her shoulders straight and numbly strode up to the stage, plastering a fake smirk on her face and hiding her disgust when she was forced to shake hands with Channing, hiding her alarm when she realized that he would be her district partner.

Her face was set in stone. Her heart wrought in iron.

* * *

**Channing Gray, District 4**

* * *

There was definitely something that made him uneasy about that girl. Something about the way she looked at him. But Channing pushed it out of his mind as he settled down for his goodbyes.

Sofia burst in first. Channing smiled at her, but the expression was quickly wiped off his face as his girlfriend set into an angry tirade.

"What do you think you're _doing_? Volunteering for the Hunger Games? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Maybe for this reason?" Channing muttered under his breath.

"You're going to _die_!" Sofia shrieked. "You're going to die, and then what'll I do? What'll everyone think about me? That was incredibly stupid. So stupid that we are done. You know what, Channing Gray? We are _over_!"

Channing just stared, open-mouthed with shock. "What? You're going to end our relationship over this?"

"Yes, I am! Do you have ears?"

"The Reaping isn't what this is about, is it?" Channing asked softly, dangerously. "This was fake."

"You might as well know now," she snapped. "This was never about you."

Channing gaped after her as she stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

The door opened again, and his two closest friends, Mike and Kurt, stepped in.

"What's wrong?" Mike asked anxiously. "You having second thoughts already?"

"Let me guess," Kurt said, his deep voice quiet. "It's about Sofia."

"Do you know what she just said to me?" Channing's voice was racked with pain.

"Aw, man," Kurt groaned, putting his head in his hands. "I was trying to tell you, before you up and volunteered. I saw her with Chris, just this morning."

"No," Channing murmured. Chris Cabrera, her supposedly ex-boyfriend? The one she'd broken up with weeks before they'd started dating?

_I should've known, I should've known, I should've—_

"They were kissing." Kurt's words, the words that Channing knew were coming, nonetheless hit him like a blow in the stomach.

"Look," Mike said quickly, gripping Channing's shoulders. "Look, I know it might seem impossible, but you need to forget about this for now. You got the Games to think about. You're winning, remember?"

"Yeah." Channing smiled weakly. "Yeah, gotta win the Games."

* * *

**Brenna Morgan, District 4**

* * *

"Why didn't anyone volunteer?" Brenna's choked words almost came out as a sob.

Alice and Ginny looked down at their feet.

"You know that there aren't as many girls who want to be in the Games," Alice offered weakly. "Maybe everyone just thought that you'd have the best chance."

"And you do have the best chance!" Ginny chimed in. "You're a genius, you're an amazing swimmer—you're going to do it, Brenna."

"I—" But it was too late; the Peacekeepers were already pushing her friends out of the room. Brenna sniffled and willed herself not to cry.

Brooke and her parents had already come, and she felt like she was breaking apart. How on earth was she going to do this?

"Onto the train, miss," A burly Peacekeeper ordered her. She reluctantly stood up and followed him. Time to face Channing—this was where she definitely could not show weakness.

* * *

Brenna stared. This was not what she had expected. Channing was slumped on the plush seat, blankly staring into space.

"What's with the long face? Decided you don't have it in you to be in the Games after all?"

The boy righted himself, glaring at her. "What's it to you? And what was your name, anyway?"

Brenna's mouth tasted sour. He didn't even know who she was? Of course he would've forgotten her. "I'm Brenna Morgan. Don't bother introducing yourself."

"I wasn't planning on it," he retorted.

Pain flashed across his chiseled features for a moment, and Brenna realized what had happened. "Wait, don't tell me. It was Sofia, wasn't it?"

His face darkened, and she knew she had hit the nail on the head. "You just found out now? The whole district's been whispering about it for weeks."

"You're lying," he spat. "I don't know what I ever did to you, but I'm not going to sit next to you this whole glorious ride to the Capitol." True to his word, he stalked off into the next car.

"Touchy, touchy," Brenna murmured. Perhaps she could finally inflict some damage in return for every emotional wound he'd given her over the years.

'I don't know what I ever did to you?' That boy had some serious brushing up to do.

One thing was sure—it was going to be a long ride to the Capitol.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Whew, sorry this took me so long to get up! I was unexpectedly busy, but I'll hopefully post the District 5 Reaping sometime this weekend.


	7. District Five: Cold Heart, Sealed Lips

_**District Five: Cold Heart, Closed Lips**_

* * *

**B****rites Jolt, District 5**

* * *

_Do memories come back to haunt you? _Maybe if someone had asked Brites that question years ago, she might have answered no.

But that was years ago. Times change, and so do people. And accidents happen.

_Yes, accidents. _Was that really the best word they could come up with to describe the heartache, the despair, the loss that was implied?

That was then. Now her whole world was memories, and the frightening thing was—she liked it that way. Better to live in the past than dwell in the present, with the people who didn't understand, who screamed vile insults from their filthy mouths.

It had been five years since her life changed, but she remembered it like it was yesterday. She had only been ten, an innocent soul.

They said that it was an explosion. A tragedy, a freak accident. They could call it what they liked; it made no difference to her. All she knew was that part of her had died in that accident. And now Solay was gone, sweet Solay who would be eighteen now. And her mother, the woman with the steaming mugs of tea who loved to curl up on the couch and laugh with you.

_Dead. Gone. _Yet somehow, she continued living.

Brit silently reached into the back of her dresser. Slender fingers slipped over the smooth surface of the bulb as she carefully drew it out. She stooped down, nimbly switching out the light bulb in her lamp with the black light.

She flipped the switch.

With that motion, all her dreams, her hopes, her memories appeared on her walls. Glowing fluorescent against the backdrop of plaster. There was Solay, her white smile shining as brightly as ever. Her mother, slicing a warm loaf of bread hot from the baker's. Brit observed all of the pictures quietly, her wide brown eyes reflecting the light. If she had her way, she would have sat there, staring at her missing family, forever.

But her eyes shifted to the other wall, and her jaw tightened ever so slightly. There weren't pictures there, only words. Harsh words. She might not be very talkative, but she heard the things that they said about her in the factory. The names they called her.

_Radioactive. Freak. Dead girl. _A scowl flew across her features as she darted forward, picking up her white marker and furiously scribbling the words over and over again over the insults that already covered the wall.

Stepping back, she releasing a long, trembling breath, composing herself again when she turned to face the last wall with markings on it.

Plans drawn by a masterful hand adorned the expanse. Steel traps, with gaping mouths and spiky teeth. Horrific devices meant for capturing something.

Brit relaxed as she traced her fingers along the designs. One day, she would capture the monsters that haunted her dreams and her memories. One day, she would make the Capitol pay for their mistreatment of the districts.

Finished, she turned off the lamp and returned the black light to its hiding place. Her thoughts and memories disappeared, leaving empty, pristine walls in their place.

Her secrets were hidden. Forever.

* * *

**Trent Stevens, District 5**

* * *

Trent managed to slip away from his little house early. He needed time to relax—today was the Reaping, after all. Every person in the District would be packed into the center of town. That meant crowds, lots of them. Trent didn't exactly do well with crowds.

"Trent! Wait up!" He sighed. _So much for relaxing. _This would be his sister Rose's first Reaping, and he knew she was nervous about it. But couldn't she leave him alone for a minute?

Rose caught up to him and turned her round little face towards him. "Be honest. Do you think that I'll get reaped today?"

Trent glanced down at her. "No," he replied simply.

What he didn't tell her was that he couldn't say the same for himself. Things had been rough for their family in the past few years, and the tesserae that Trent had signed up for didn't help his odds at all.

For a moment his brain wheeled, and he felt sick. What would happen if he was reaped? He wouldn't last very long in the arena, that was for sure.

_Don't dwell on the negative, _he tried to tell himself. But all he could really think about was the fact that he would soon need to go to the marketplace where the Reaping would be conducted.

The whole district would be there. The _whole district. _Already his legs were feeling wobbly. Already his lips were trembling. He knew what Reaping day was like, and sure, he'd already survived two of them, but the sea of people always made his stomach clench.

Feeling dizzy, he settled down under a tree and didn't get back up until Rose poked him. He wasn't sure how much time had passed.

"We need to go!" Her voice was shrill with anxiety, and Trent decided that he had to at least pretend to be strong, if only for her.

"A-alright, Rosie. Let's go. It's not very scary, o-o-okay? They'll just t-take your name and age down, and th-then you stand there and wait to go home."

"Okay," she replied in a small voice. Taking her hand, Trent started along the cobblestone path towards the marketplace.

* * *

**Brites Jolt, District 5**

* * *

Pik Saduch stepped up to the podium, looking rather unenthusiastic. He was garbed in a shocking rainbow suit that caused Brit to wince in pain.

She had never really been one for loud clothing. Today she was dressed in a dark blue skirt with a cream blouse.

_Best to stay unnoticed. _Besides, making herself stand out would only make her more of a target—if that was even possible.

This day made her sick. The whole idea of it was sick, and she showed her feelings by forcing her expression into a stoic, bitter mask. The whole district seemed to agree with her; they were extremely quiet for such a large group of people.

"This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Hunger Games. One decade of our glorious tradition has continued. But we must first remember the price paid for our festivities."

Brit scowled. A few years back, the Capitol had started to pretend that everyone had forgotten what the Games really were. It wasn't working. The mothers would never be excited for the slaughter of their beloved children. The fathers would never tolerate their lack of power over the Games. Brites knew better than that.

Good, the man had finished. Now they could finally get on with the ceremony.

"We will begin with our ladies." Pik's pallid fingers fished for a slip, found one, and ripped it open. "Brites Jolt."

The words seared through Brit's head. But she kept her emotions inside. She had had ample experience with that particular skill.

The children around her stared as her brown eyes sharpened and her auburn brows furrowed. Expressionless, she walked up to the stage.

Silence covered the crowd like a blanket. Then it was broken by a sharp cry.

"_No!_" The words sounded strangled as a beefy man with dark red hair flung himself toward the stage. Before the Peacekeepers supervising could react, he swung his fist into one of their skulls. "You can't!" He screamed, sounding rabid and completely out of his senses. "You took my sweet Solay! You took Elen! She's all that's left! You _can't_!"

His limbs moved in a furious frenzy, but there were too many of the white-costumed men. One of them quickly tranquilized him with a dart to the head.

Murmurs broke out among the bystanders, but a dark pit of despair spiraled down Brit's throat. So that was it. Her father had finally reached his breaking point.

A ruffled Pik cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose that's behind us. How about that for a little excitement, eh?"

_It's no wonder they haven't promoted him to a better district, _Brit thought numbly.

"Onto our male tribute. Trent Stevens!"

_Oh, _thought Brit. _Him. _A scrawny little blond kid scuffled up to the stage next to her, eyes wide with terror. Brit knew the boy. He was one year younger, but his stutter and completely antisocial nature had condemned him in the eyes of the other children. Even Brit pitied him for the way he was tormented, and if _she _felt bad for him—well, then that was saying something.

She roughly shook his hand, finding it deathly cold. It didn't surprise her.

She had gotten used to that feeling a long, long time ago.

* * *

The cushion on the velvet chair was hard and uncomfortable. Brit had no idea how long she sat there in the little room, thoughts churning through her head.

The Peacekeepers pulled her out when it became obvious that no one was going to come to say goodbye.

_What did they do to him? _She wondered bleakly. They had no doubt killed her father. Injuring a Peacekeeper carried a heavy price.

It didn't matter. He had already been dead, really, five years ago. Right when she, too, had died. Just one more member of her diminutive family gone.

And it was funny, but for the first time she really felt alone.

They shoved her onto the train, where she was forced to awkwardly sit next to Trent. His eyes were still huge, and it was clear that he'd been crying.

_The Hunger Games is no place for the weak._

As for her? She kept her mouth shut. Sealed. Because she feared that if she opened it, all her thoughts would come spewing out. Rage-filled insults about the Capitol. Curses at the people who'd accidentally caused her mother and sister to perish. Empty sobs mourning her life. Screams. Screams of hopelessness.

Brites Jolt truly died that day. She hadn't thought it was possible after all she had been through, but maybe some tiny shred of her soul had clung to the hope that maybe, maybe life would go on. If that shred ever existed, it burned right then.

No one would ever know. Her lips were sealed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the short chapter, but I felt that I wrote everything that needed to be written. Poor Trent is my character and will most likely die off quickly in the Bloodbath.

On another note, I'll post sponsor points so far on my profile tomorrow. Stay tuned for the District 2 Reaping that should be up within a week!


	8. District Six: To Fall in Love

_**District Six Reaping: To Fall in Love**_

* * *

**Brooklyn Mace, District 6**

* * *

Brooklyn held her breath and kept her eyes trained on the red fletching of the dart as it whizzed forward. A smile broke across her pleasant features as the sharp point lodged itself in the direct center of the board.

"Bulls eye," she declared, smirking at the man standing beside her. "And _you _thought that you actually had a chance of winning."

"I was getting pretty close there," Axel Mace reminded her. "It's pretty tough to win when your opponent has almost perfect accuracy."

"Now, now, you're not half bad yourself."

"Not half bad? Take that back, you!" Father and daughter tussled for a minute before collapsing into fits of laughter.

Brook felt some of the tension ebb out of her as her father embraced her. It was so much easier to keep her mind off of the Reaping when she was _doing _something—and playing darts with Axel had become a nightly ritual. Something about the easy motion of throwing the dart made her relax. It felt strangely satisfying to know that she could put the dart wherever she wanted on the board.

"You guys always have all the fun," Adelynn complained, her short blonde head popping up from behind the kitchen counter. "Why don't you let me play a round?"

"I'm not sure," Axel mused thoughtfully. "Maybe because you'd accidentally take off one of our heads if you tried?"

Adele squealed indignantly and punched her father on the arm. "Accidentally? It won't be much of an accident if you keep your mouth open for much longer."

Warmness flowed over Brooke as she looked at her squabbling family. If only she could freeze this moment so that all of them could always feel the happiness and security that enveloped them now.

But time would pass, and tomorrow the Reaping would dawn.

* * *

**Asher Wilson, District 6**

* * *

Voices raised in anger cut into Asher's ears. He couldn't help wincing as his two sisters screamed at each other, words reverberating off the thin walls of their home. Sometimes he wished he could just stuff his pillow over his head and block them out, block all of his family out. It would be so much easier.

But who knew what would happen if he did that? More than likely, the whole household would fall into chaos. Latika constantly screeching at Charity, his mother hiding under the covers to get away from her children, and Kitum sitting there with his eyes wide, not saying anything. Never saying anything.

Asher forced himself to take a deep breath. _Time to maintain some order._

Stepping into the kitchen, he pulled little Charity away from Latika, who looked on the verge of punching her sister. "Stop it, you guys," he hissed. "Mom'll be home soon, and you know she prefers things to be quiet."

"Who cares about Mom?" Latika snapped. "It's not like she's ever done anything for us. Anyway, I'm not staying here with this brat any more. I'm going out." And with that, the fifteen-year-old turned on her heels and stalked out the door.

Asher frowned. He didn't know where Latika went during her frequent time spent 'out,' and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. His sister barely spent any time at home at all nowadays, and whenever she was present she rarely even talked to any of them.

"Now, _you _should go to your room."

"You're not the boss of me!" Little Charity ran up and kicked him on the shin before running off.

Asher was used to it. He just ran a hand through his dark, tangled hair and sighed.

Suddenly the door clanged open, and a frail woman stepped inside. Though she couldn't have been more than fifty, her hair had already been overtaken by gray, and wrinkles plagued her spotted skin.

She looked tired. So, so tired. Asher couldn't remember a time when she had looked any different.

"Hello, Mom," he said tersely. "Long shift at the factory?"

There was no response, as usual. The woman just plodded to her room, where Asher knew she would collapse on the bed.

It didn't matter. He hadn't ever expected anyone in his family to appreciate him or to even acknowledge his presence. He would deal with it, just like he always did.

Relaxing somewhat, Asher sat down at the table, opening his worn textbook before him.

While his siblings could care less about their schoolwork, Asher worked as hard as he could on his. He knew it was the only way he could escape his living situation. He was taking an engineering class right now, and he already could envision his dream becoming reality.

He could see it now—he would succeed in school and become a skilled automobile designer, like Brooklyn's father. Then he could actually make a way for himself, and maybe then he would actually be able to deserve Brook.

Absorbed in his studies, he looked up and realized that it was well into the night. But he didn't feel like getting into the cot next to his younger brother Kitum, especially not with the weight of the Reaping looming over him.

Asher had signed up for tesserae. A large amount of tesserae. It was the only thing he could do to keep his family surviving, and of course Latika refused to take any. The odds would not be in his favor, and he was secretly dreading the next day.

Asher was jolted out of his reverie as the door slammed open. His expression hardened as a man with greasy brown hair staggered in.

"Asher! My son. How's life, son?" Asher flinched as Zonn Wilson lurched towards him.

"Don't touch me."

"Oh, don't be that way. Let's be nice, shall we?" His father's foolish grin turned cruel. "Don't you know that children should be obedient? Oh-bee-dee-ent. Funny word, ain't it?"

Zonn's haunted black eyes bore into him. Empty eyes. Asher vowed that he would never turn into something like his father.

"Too tight, that's your problem. Loosen up. Have a drink once in a while." A crazed, drunken laugh bubbled from his lips.

"I think you have drinks more than 'once in a while,'" Asher muttered, stepping back. "Well, I think I'd better leave now." He knew that things could turn ugly if he kept the conversation up for much longer.

"Oh, but why?" He heard his father whine as he scooted out the door. Asher shuddered, but whether from the previous moments or the cold night air, he wasn't sure.

* * *

Asher lightly knocked on the cool glass of a window. After a few moments, a bleary-eyed boy stuck his head out. "Asher?"

"Sorry, Samson," he muttered. "Things were getting a little rough."

"No problem," the boy whispered. "Come in quietly through the front. You can take some stuff from the fridge if you want."

Asher obligingly crept inside the house and pried open the door to the fridge. His dark eyes widened at the sight of all the food crammed inside, and his belly let out an involuntary rumble. He didn't recall eating anything since breakfast.

He felt a little bit guilty mooching off of Samson, but it at least his friend was relatively well-off. He knew the boy didn't mind it, and he would camp out at Samson's house whenever he needed to.

Slipping into Samson's room, he reclined down on the rough carpet and pulled a thin blanket over his shoulders. He would try to sleep, but he rather doubted that he would be able to.

* * *

**Nebula Carter, District 6**

* * *

Nebula quietly clicked the door of her house closed and stepped out onto the road leading to the center of town. For some of her lucky friends, this Reaping would be their last, but she would still have to make it through another one after this year.

Most of everyone in the district was quiet and solemn on this day, but Nebula felt like their attitudes only darkened the atmosphere. She much preferred to laugh and joke to hide her fear.

"Hey, Nebula!" The redheaded girl's face broke out in a smile as another girl with silky brown hair fell into step beside her.

"Hi, Ina. Where's everyone else?"

"I dunno," Thomasina shrugged. "I think Brooklyn, Asher, and Samson should here soon."

Sure enough, Brooklyn and Asher appeared from around the bend, Brook laughing at a joke Asher had made. Nebula smiled at the sight of her friends—Asher and Brooklyn had always had a sort of tentative relationship. They liked each other, but they seemed unsure of themselves. It seemed like they just wanted to take things slowly and wait to see where the relationship would go, and both of them were perfectly content with that.

"Asher, Brook! We're gonna be late if you guys don't hurry up!"

Samson, a shy, muscular blond guy hurried up to the group. Now _there _was definitely someone with a crush. Nebula wasn't even sure if Thomasina even realized that Samson was interested in her.

Nebula couldn't help feeling a little left out. It would definitely be awkward to be the odd one out if Samson and Thomasina got together.

"You guys nervous at all?" Nebula murmured as the teenagers shuffled into their respective areas.

Anxious glances were exchanged between the group.

"We'll be fine," Asher said confidently. "There's so many kids in District Six, and we all have only one or two more years to go."

Nebula couldn't help smiling. That was Asher, always the optimist—even though he was probably incredibly worried about the Reaping.

Nebula's mind drifted as the ordinary pomp and circumstance of the Reaping was conducted, but she jolted back to the present as Maizy Cauliflower stepped on stage, grinning like an idiot.

"Welcome to our tenth annual Reaping!" She squealed, bright blue curls bouncing excitedly. "For the sake of politeness we'll start with our ladies." Teetering dangerously on her high heels, she reached into the glass bowl and read the name out clearly. "Brooklyn Mace!"

Nebula flinched and turned to Brook, who was standing right next to her. Brooklyn looked shocked but quickly composed her features into a blank expression as she slowly walked up. Asher let out a strangled croak.

Nebula's heart was in her throat as she watched Brook standing there, blinking quickly. The girl looked like she was about to faint, but then her long, straight brown hair fell over her eyes, shielding her expression.

"No," Asher whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. Nebula placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"Well, congratulations, Brooklyn! Now for our male tribute." Again her hand dipped into the ball, and again Maizy read the name. "Asher Wilson."

Nebula let out a squeak of horror. Was this really happening? Out of all the people in the district, Asher and Brooklyn had been called!

Asher was standing there, eyes practically bugging out of his head. Nebula gently moved him forward. "Up you go, Asher," she whispered, her voice trembling with shock.

Her head pounded at the horrible outcome of the Reaping. The harsh reality of the situation hit her—one, or probably both, of her friends were going to die.

* * *

**Brooklyn Mace, District 6**

* * *

Brooklyn bit her lip until a small trickle of blood flowed down her chin. Her eyes glistened with tears barely held in as her family rushed into the little room.

"Oh, Brook, don't cry!" Her mother hurried to her side.

Adele's lip quivered, and the younger girl flung her arms around Brook before bursting into tears.

"Hey, cut the waterworks, sweetie," her father said lightly, gently jabbing Adele in the side. Though his words were playful, his deathly pale face betrayed his real emotions. "Don't look so tense, Brookie. You'll be able to take off everyone's heads with your aim, right?"

"Right." Brooklyn smiled weakly. The only problem was that it could prove difficult to take off the heads of kids who had been trained for their entire lives. There was also the small issue that to win, she or someone else would have to take off _Asher's _head.

_Oh, Asher, _she thought miserably. A traitorous tear leaked out of the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

"We'll be able to watch you," Adele said quietly, squeezing her arm. And just like that, her family was gone. Would she ever see them again?

In came Nebula, Thomasina, Samson, and a few of her other friends. "Brook!" Nebula immediately embraced her.

"Did you see Asher?" Brooklyn asked.

"We were just in his room," Thomasina said grimly. "He's a little upset… didn't really help that none of his family really cared that he'd been reaped."

Brooklyn winced. She had always known how hard things had been for Asher.

"You'll do fine, Brook," Nebula murmured.

She just closed her eyes as they left until a Peacekeeper roughly gripped her arm. "Time to get on the train. You're heading for the Capitol."

Brook swallowed and followed him out the door and to the waiting train. Stepping inside, she marveled at the grand interior.

And there was Asher, seated at a glass table and looking dismal. He gave a small smile at the sight of her.

Both of them stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to say or how to act. Brook shifted uncomfortably.

Finally, Asher moved forward and caught her in a tight embrace. Something in Brooklyn broke, and she pressed her face into his warm shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Looking up to Asher, she saw that his cheeks were streaked with moisture.

She relaxed somewhat at that. She knew Asher wouldn't hide his feelings or pretend to be strong when he wasn't feeling like it. They were in this together, weren't they?

"Look," Asher murmured, releasing her. "I know that we've always… sort of _had _something. But this is the Hunger Games. If we're being honest with ourselves, neither of us is going to make it. So can we just try to live before we go into the arena?"

"Yes," she said softly. "That sounds perfect." She had always liked Asher, and he had always liked her, but their relationship had never gone very far. She suspected that Asher felt unworthy because of his family and his poverty—but he didn't understand that those things didn't _matter _to her.

And if they were going to fall in love, this was the time to do it.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Poor Brooklyn and Asher. How do you think they'll fare in the arena?

Sooo, halfway done with the Reapings! We're chugging along slowly but steadily. Thanks for sticking with me so far- I know the Reapings can get a little dull, but I feel like they're necessary to get to know the tributes.


	9. District Seven: One Way or Another

_**District Seven Reaping: One Way or Another**_

* * *

**Rixenne Jean, District 7**

* * *

Rix gazed at herself in the mirror, twirling slightly so her shimmering white gown flowed around her long legs. The girl staring back at her had long, wavy brown hair and dazzling golden-brown eyes. Most would call her pretty, especially today when she was wearing her best.

Rix? She wasn't quite convinced.

"Mom," she called, stepping out of her room. "How do I look?"

Her mother hurried over to inspect her. "Oh, sweetie, you look perfect!"

Rix frowned. "Are you sure? My hair won't hang right, and the dress makes my legs look too skinny."

"You're fine," the woman replied, looking at her daughter and sniffling. "You're just growing up too fast, Rix! Can't you ever slow down and enjoy life? My baby... you're not my baby anymore."

Rix sighed, irritated. "Yes, Mom, you've told me that before."

"You're just not like you were when you were little," she moaned, shaking her head. "So full of life, and now look at you! What changed?"

"Maybe because people are _supposed_ to change as they grow up?"

"Don't talk to me like that!" her mother screeched. "You always yell at me for no reason. Then again, you never liked me very much, did you? A daughter hating her own mother!"

"Mom," Rix hissed before stomping back to her room and slamming the door. Her mother always ended up ranting like that.

Biting her lip, Rix felt tears well up in her eyes. Why couldn't her mother just see who she was and accept it?

Gingerly sliding the drawer of her desk open, Rix picked up a small, sharp object. A staple remover.

Rix turned it over in her hands, considering using it once again. Her fingers automatically slid to the long, fading scratches running from her wrist to her elbow.

It had been quite a while since she had last used this, yet the sharp little object still held so many bad memories in its metal jaws. She had first started to use it when she was six and her uncle had been babysitting her. Rix shuddered at the dark memories.

_He's gone now_, she reminded herself.

Then she recalled how bad things had become sometime last year- with her awful 'friends,' girls who constantly made snide remarks about her and picked at all her insecurities. Just thinking about it brought all the tears, all the fevers, all the sickness and misery fresh to her mind.

But that, too, was over. Summer had come, and now Rix was a stronger girl for the experience.

Now, looking down at the staple remover, Rix hesitated. Did she really want to start this?

_No,_ she decided. _Not again._ She flung the object back into the drawer and firmly closed it.

Opening her door, she ignored her mother and exited the house.

"Hey," a voice snapped at her from inside. "Why're you dressed up so much for the Reaping?"

"Because, Zake," she sighed, turning to face her little brother, "if I'm reaped, I have to look nice for the camera."

He scowled. "Whatever. Who cares what those Capitol people think? Next year at my Reaping, I'll wear my rattiest clothes.

"And besides," he said more gently. "You're not gonna get reaped, Rix. Right?"

"Right," she said, smiling at him.

* * *

"Rix!" Carmen Davis gripped her friend's arm. "You look gorgeous!"

Rix blushed. "I'm not so sure about that. But _you're_ stunning in that dress."

Carmen smiled. "At least we get to look nice for the Reaping."

"Hey, guys!" Dark-haired Sable joined the two girls. "What do you think Opal's gonna be wearing this year?"

"Something ridiculous, of course," Rixenne giggled. Opal, the District Seven escort, was always wearing the latest Capitol fashion. Which was, by all accounts, ridiculous.

"Maybe she'll have a theme color this year," Sable mused. "How about puke-green?"

As the girls laughed together, Rix smiled. She had finally found a good group of friends, and though they were going to the Reaping, she had never felt quite so secure.

* * *

**Seth Witherton, District 7**

* * *

Seth greedily rubbed his hands together as he looked across the wide dining table. Covered with an embroidered lace tablecloth, it was loaded with steaming trays of food.

At the far end of the table rested all the meat- sizzling slices of bacon, greasy sausages, and cold cuts of ham. Farther up there was a huge basket brimming with juicy fruit. The remainder of the table was covered with steaming scrambled eggs, buttery muffins, and pancakes dripping with syrup.

All in all, it was a fitting breakfast for the day of the Reaping. Quickly slipping a cloth napkin onto his lap, the boy filled his plate with food and hungrily dug in.

"Seth!" His mother cried, hopping down the carpeted stairs into the dining room. "Are you enjoying your breakfast? I told Lena to make it extra-special for today."

"Yeah," he muttered, mouth full of partially chewed food.

"I picked up your suit from the tailor's this morning," she told him, stepping over and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "Go try it on when you're finished."

"Sure." Ignoring his mother, Seth focused on his breakfast until every crumb had disappeared from his plate.

Servants scurried to clear the table as Seth stood up and clambered up the stairs. He smirked at their thin frames- couldn't they find anything better to do with their lives? - and stepped into his spacious room.

A familiar picture hanging on his wall caught his eye. It showed three boys with their arms slung around each other, one resembling a thinner version of himself.

Seth sighed. The Capitol had relocated his father, a wealthy factory owner, to District Seven a few years back. Awkward Seth hadn't been able to make any friends, but he had managed to convince himself that he didn't need any. Instead he turned to resources readily available (at least, to him)—food and finery.

A makeshift stage had been hastily constructed in the marketplace, leaving the citizens to crowd in between the shops. Seth was slowly walking to his place among the other thirteen-year-olds when a tall boy stepped in front of him, smirking.

"Hey, hippo boy!" Soon more boys closed in around him, one roughly shoving him.

Seth stumbled but caught himself before he hit the ground.

"What's the matter, hippo? Afraid to get your nice suit dirty?"

Seth scowled. Most every kid in the district hated him- he was the one living extravagantly in a mansion while their families toiled in his father's factories, barely surviving.

"You won't be so rude when I tell my father what you're doing," Seth snarled.

"Oh," sneered one of the guys. "So Mister Witherton's gonna come after me? I'm so scared." His words were brave, but Seth noted that none of the boys gave him any more trouble after that. They couldn't risk losing their parents' jobs.

Seth stared intently as Opal Martin swirled up to the microphone. This was a woman straight from the Capitol, where he dreamt of living one day. Opal looked out to the crowd and shifted uncomfortably, almost as if she could feel Seth's envious glare burning into her.

Opal unfolded the little slip of paper and read the name. "Seth Witherton!"

A collective gasp went around the crowd, and Seth immediately stopped analyzing the escort.

_It's okay_, he told himself. And with that mindset, he forced himself up onto the stage.

* * *

**Rixenne Jean, District 7**

* * *

Rix started in surprise as Opal called out the male tribute's name. Seth Witherton? The son of the most affluent man in the district? There must've been a mistake.

But no, an overweight boy with shiny blond hair and beady blue eyes dragged himself up to the stage, scowling out at the audience.

Murmurs immediately broke out among the crowd. Rix didn't quite know what to think. She didn't hate the Withertons like most families did- her family was well off, and her father didn't work in one of the automobile factories. If anything, she almost felt bad for the kid, but then again, he did seem like a bit of a brat.

Carmen elbowed her. "Wonder how long he'll last in the arena, eh? With that belly."

Rix jabbed her friend in the side. "Don't be sick. You're no better than the Capitol!"

The girls quickly quieted as Opal picked the girl's name. "Rixenne Jean!"

A lump rose in Rix's throat, but she quickly pushed it aside. She knew that the cameras would be on her from the get-go. For her, the Games had already begun, and she needed to play it cool. She couldn't act like being Reaped was devastating.

_No weakness. I'm superior, above everyone else._ So she ambled up the stage, smirking at the cameraman and laughing out to the crowd. "Just call me Rix," she breathed into the microphone, winking smoothly.

"Congratulations, Seth and Rix!" Opal gushed, beaming at the two. "Ladies and gentleman, your District Seven tributes!" There was actually a smattering of applause this year, most likely because of Seth's misfortune. It made Rix sick.

With that, the Reaping was over and the people of District Seven gradually dispersed. Peacekeepers gripped Rix's arm and escorted her to the Justice Building, where she would see her friends and family- probably for the last time.

Rix had never been in the Justice Building before, so she tried to bottle her building emotions as she gazed around wonderingly. It was nice inside, with furniture and design like she had never seen before. She was deposited in a plush room that smelled vaguely of strawberries.

Within a few minutes, the door opened and her family came in. Her mother was in tears, her father stoic, and Zake's face was as white as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Hello," Rix said waveringly, trying to smile. She blinked quickly, hoping that the motion of her thick eyelashes would hold the tears in. She had to get used to controlling her emotions if she was going to be in the Hunger Games!

"Hey," her father said hesitantly, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her. "I love you," he whispered, and that small statement was all Rix needed to hear. She turned her head and pressed her face into his shoulder as he rocked her back and forth.

Zake and her mother hurried to her side. Her younger brother's previously pale face was now beginning to flush with anger. "They're _idiots_!" he screeched, fists tightly clenched. "It's not fair, Rix. They can't take you!" His fury quickly melted into despair as tears openly flowed down his cheeks. "I'm going to kill them." Now his voice was soft and dangerous, laced with something darker.

"Zake," she gripped his arm. "No. Get control of yourself and calm down." She knew that her brother's anger often got out of control, and the last thing she needed was him getting hurt because he did something stupid. She knew that he cared about her, and that was enough for her.

Rix reached over and squeezed her mother's hand, gazing into the woman's dark eyes. Through unspoken communication she forgave her mother for everything they had ever fought about. She couldn't leave anything unresolved.

The Peacekeepers pushed her family out, and next her friends came in. There was Carmen, and Sable, and Tiffany, and Allie, and Ben, but where was Relix?

It hurt. It hurt to see her friends in tears, crying for her. It was one thing to have to suffer herself, but to see her misfortune affecting her from and family was torure.

And all too soon, they were gone and she found words on the tip of her tongue. Words that she meant to have said, but it was too late now, wasn't it?

But one more person was left. A lanky boy stepped into the room, gorgeous, ocean-colored eyes burning with despair.

"Relix?" she asked in a small voice.

"Rix," he said quietly. His arms slipped around her side, and suddenly her eyelashes couldn't hold the tears in anymore. She had been strong for her family and friends, but it had taken too much out of her.

His lips gently brushed against hers, and then the Peacekeepers pulled him out- the train was leaving, they said.

Rix trod to the railroad, feet heavy with sorrow. As she stepped into the train, her first sight was that of Seth Witherton seated at a table, devouring a plateful of food.

Gingerly, she sat down beside him. "How can you possibly eat?" she asked shakily.

"I can always eat," he said derisively. "Nerves getting to you?"

"Yes," she snapped. "Don't tell me you're not scared."

"Sure I am," he said, voice devoid of emotion. Rix leaned back and looked at him, really looked at him. And for a moment, she didn't just see Seth Witherton, lucky rich kid. She saw a hollow human who hadn't felt love for a while, perhaps even never.

"So," he said conversationally, still munching on a chicken leg. "You don't hate me like everyone else?"

Rix paused. "It's not hate," she mused. "More like pity."

He squinted at her. "Pity? You _pity_ me?"

She shrugged. "I think that would be the best way to phrase it."

Seth silently continued plowing through his food, and Rix leaned back, closing her eyes as the landscape blurred past.

She was leaving District Seven behind, but not forever. One day she would come home, one way or another. Either as a victor or a corpse.

And the scary thing was, she wasn't quite sure which method she preferred.


	10. District Eight: Imminent Death

_**District Eight Reaping: Imminent Death**_

* * *

**Carter Stark, District 8**

* * *

_"Don't I look like a princess, Carter?" giggled the petite little eight-year-old as she twirled around, causing her bright pink gown to fly around her thin legs. The dress was covered in glitter and frills, obviously meant to be a plaything for a young girl._

_ "No," The little boy scowled, brushing his curly brown hair out of his eyes. "You look dumb, Hayden. You're not a princess."_

_ "I can pretend! You're being _mean,_" Hayden grabbed her little brother's arms and pulled him closer to her. "What's wrong with you?"_

_ "Let go of me!" he shrieked, thrashing about violently._

_ "Then stop being so mean!"_

_ Carter brought his head forward and bit his sister's arm, sharp little teeth piercing Hayden's flesh._

_ "Ow!" The girl wailed, letting go of him. Her chubby face had turned bright red with pain, and she burst into angry tears. "I'm bleeding! It hurts!"_

_ Her mother rushed into the room, summoned by Hayden's cries, but Carter had already run off._

* * *

_Olivia Stark stood in the middle of the kitchen with arms folded and grey eyes serious, foot tapping irritably on the tile floor. She stared intently at her six-year-old son, squirming uncomfortably in front of her._

_ Abruptly relaxing her posture, Olivia sighed and ran a hand through her dark brown hair. She supposed Carter was at a difficult age, but the things he had been doing lately were completely out of character. There hadn't been any conflict that she knew of that could've triggered his behavior. What had happened to the sweet, loyal kid that was her son?_

_ Olivia believed in discipline, she really did. But she felt that punishment wouldn't help much in this case—what she really needed to do was get to the bottom of the issue._

_ "Carter," she began sternly. "Hayden said that you were very rude to her yesterday. What's more, you bit her arm. Haven't Daddy and I told you not to hurt others?"_

_ "Yes, momma," he said innocently, turning his gray-green eyes to her. "But I told you—I wasn't mean to Hayden. I didn't bite her!"_

_ "Don't lie, Carter. I saw the teeth marks on Hayden's arm, and she told me exactly what happened."_

_ "Then Hayden's lying!" he said stubbornly. "Cause I didn't do it!"_

_ Olivia rubbed her temples. "I'll talk to you more about this later. Maybe when I take away some of your privileges, you'll remember what you did to your sister. Now, put everything in your backpack for school tomorrow."_

_ Carter stared at her. "But I don't have school tomorrow!"_

_ "Carter, this isn't funny."_

_ "It's only Saturday! Daddy took me to see the factory yesterday, remember?"_

_ Olivia stared at her son, worry starting to creep into her mind. "Please stop joking, Carter. That was on Friday—two days ago. Today is Sunday."_

_ "No, it's not!" Carter screeched, pudgy cheeks flushing with frustration._

He must just be in a bad mood, _Olivia told herself. But a nagging suspicion that something was wrong appeared in her mind, a suspicion that only grew over the following three years._

* * *

_"Let me clarify," the doctor said. He was a tall, severe man, used to seeing the wealthiest citizens of District 8. "Carter has been experiencing memory loss for three years now?"_

_ "Yes," Olivia Stark replied, voice trembling slightly. "Ever since he was six, he goes through episodes where he acts strangely—more rash and competitive. It's led to some minor accidents."_

_ The doctor paused and consulted his clipboard, a frown passing over his stern features. "Mr. and Mrs. Stark, it seems to me that your son has multiple personality disorder."_

_ "What on earth is that?" Henry Stark asked, frowning._

_ "To put it simply, there are two people crammed into Carter's body. Gradually, his other personality has been becoming dominant more and more often. The memory loss should fade, but I'm afraid there's nothing you can do about it other than to treat both of them like normal children."_

_ Carter blinked, swinging his legs excitedly. "That sounds right," he said. "We're starting to be able to talk to each other sometimes, too."_

_ Olivia looked slightly horrified, but Henry just accepted the news with a nod._

_ "Like I said, treat the other personality the same way you'd treat Carter. I would start by giving him a separate name," the doctor told them._

_ "Can we call him Ben?" Carter asked. "I always wished my name was Ben."_

_ "Ben it is," his father said brightly, gently squeezing Olivia's waist. "It'll be fine, Olivia," he murmured softly to his wife. "He's still our Carter. And our Ben."_

* * *

"I dunno," Carter mused as he walked along the sidewalk with his friends. "I'm actually sort of happy that it's Reaping Day. No school, everyone's off work, the weather's great—it's not like one of us is going to get picked."

_Yeah, right. You're just happy about it because you'll get to feast your eyes on Tayla at the Reaping. _Ben's teasing words cut into Carter's thoughts. _Try not to stare at her too much, okay? You'll embarrass me._

Carter's cheeks flushed as he whacked the side of his head.

_ Aw, I'm just kidding, Carter._

"Wait, let me guess," Connor Nassan, his closest friend, smirked. "Ben said something about you wanting to see Tayla."

Carter groaned. Tayla Belle was the most attractive girl in the district. She was also the only living victor in District Eight, having won the Games a few years back. Carter, as well as many other guys in the district, had a hopeless crush on her. Ben and all his friends knew about it and never ceased teasing him.

Declan just laughed, but behind him, his sister Natalie scowled darkly.

_Dang, Natalie's got it good for us. Don't say anything else about Tayla, okay? You'll only piss her off more._

_ Yeah, yeah, _Carter replied. _She's Declan's sister—we can't really go out with her._

_ I guess you're right. Wouldn't want to ruin our relationship with any of these guys._

Carter could feel the affection behind Ben's words, an affection that they definitely shared. It was incredibly reassuring to always have Connor and Declan backing him up. Not everyone who found out about Ben accepted him as well as Carter's friends had.

"Shoot, we're gonna be late," Connor moaned, consulting his wristwatch. "Let's go!"

The teenagers ran towards the Reaping stage, and Carter smiled. Whatever happened, he would always have his friends by his side.

* * *

**Odetta Huckleberry, District 8**

* * *

_Around, around, around. _Odetta twirled and spun, slender limbs moving gracefully through the air as she hummed to herself.

Dancing washed it all away. The fear she felt about the Reaping, the worry that her sister and brother would never get enough to eat, and the hunger, most of all the hunger. That pain in her stomach that was always there, gnawing at her innards like some feral beast.

"Do you want me to sing you a song, Donna?" At her feet, her little sister sat, watching her with big eyes. Eight-year-old Donna looked so fragile, with her skinny little arms and flyaway blond hair. She was so small that it seemed a strong gust of wind could blow her over.

"Yes, sing to me!" The little girl said eagerly. "Sing a song from the old world."

Odetta paused. "I think I've sung all of them to you before."

"There must be one more," Donna begged.

Odetta's eyes suddenly lit up. "I've got one."

She pulled her sister to her feet and spun Donna around, then holding her arms as she sang. "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

Donna giggled as she sang. "I'm not a baby!"

"It's a lullaby, Donna. It's supposed to make you sleepy."

"I'm not sleepy. But it does sound pretty. And I wish _I _had a diamond ring," the girl sighed.

Something tore at Odetta's heart. If only she could, she would've bought Donna a million diamond rings. "I'll get you one," she promised. "One day."

"It's okay," Donna said, cuddling against her sister. "I don't really need one."

Odetta smiled as Donna sat down on the bed they shared, singing quietly to herself. "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy me a mockingbird. An' if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy me a diamond ring."

_Could anyone even afford to buy anything for their children? _Odetta mused, shaking her head sadly. _Not in District 8, that's for sure._

"I'm hungry," Donna sighed. It wasn't a whine, just a statement. "So, so hungry."

"I know," Odetta said quietly. "I know. After the Reaping, Juliet will bring us food."

_Thank goodness for Juliet. _If Odetta's friend hadn't started to supply her family with food, she wasn't sure what might have happened to them. Her younger brother, Christopher, could sometimes manage to escape out to the prairie and catch some birds or rabbits, but it wasn't enough. Her father could've hunted to supply the family—if he wasn't constantly being observed by Peacekeepers.

The door to their small home suddenly clanged open as Christopher hurried in. "Anyone want to eat before the Reaping?" he asked excitedly.

Donna squealed in delight as she rushed to greet him. Odetta's stomach growled, and she sighed with relief. Christopher must've managed to get some meat and trade it for food.

"Just a little bit of bread, but it'll do," he said, passing some to his sisters. "The Peacekeepers are all busy getting ready for the Reaping."

Odetta glanced at him, feeling slightly worried. "You took some tesserae, didn't you?"

Christopher bit his lip, and she saw a flicker of nervousness in his eyes before he composed his face into the calm, set-in-stone mask that he usually adopted. Odetta always saw through it, of course. Sometimes people told her that she had a gift for knowing how people were feeling.

"It'll be fine," she said softly, putting a hand on his arm. Now she was sorry for bringing the topic up. "But we'd better go now. Stay here, Donna—Mom and Dad will be back to take you to the Reaping later."

"Okay," the little girl said, looking fearful for her siblings. The truth was, anyone's name could be picked out of that Reaping ball today. Nobody, not even the escort with her silly blue hair, knew who would be chosen.

* * *

"Odetta Huckleberry!" Odetta gasped as Jessica Flowers called her name out. Beside her, her friends let out cries of surprise.

_Don't cry, don't cry! _She told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut. She let out a choked sound and rushed up to the stage, blinking back the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes.

They had a chair for her. How thoughtful.

"And for the boys," Jessica said breathlessly, "our tribute will be… Carter Stark!"

Odetta blinked as a boy with dark brown hair slowly stepped up to the stage, looking disbelieving. She didn't recognize him, but then he was coming from the seventeen-year-olds section.

As the people dispersed, bulky Peacekeepers gripped her arms. She stumbled as they escorted her towards the Justice Building—where she would say her goodbyes.

Odetta entered the wide doors of the Roman-style building, filled with fear. She didn't _want _to say goodbye to her family. She didn't want to see Donna crying or Christopher looking at the floor with his emotionless mask on, unwilling to meet her gaze. She wanted to remember them as happy, cheerful people, not family members despairing over her imminent death.

_Imminent death. _The thought caused her to burst into tears. She would try, of course she would, but she had to face facts: she probably wasn't going to make it out of this alive.

She only cried harder as her family came in. She had planned on trying to hold herself together for them, but that was impossible now.

Odetta saw Donna hugging her leg through the tears, and she tried to curb the sobs. They refused to stop, going on and on and on until she thought that she must have soaked the chair she was sitting on.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word," she vaguely heard Donna singing the song in a trembling voice. "Donna's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don't sing, Donna's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

Donna pressed an object into her palm. She felt cool metal against her hand and looked down at a little ring set with a large, sparkling stone.

_Oh. _She had forgotten that she owned the ring. Though it certainly wasn't diamond, it was still a sweet gesture, and she wrapped her arms around Donna.

"It can be your token," Donna sniffed. "You're allowed to bring something into the arena, right?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "Thank you."

She felt her parents squeezing her hands and Christopher touching her shoulder, and suddenly she was glad that they had come to say goodbye.

* * *

**Carter Stark, District 8**

* * *

Carter sighed and rested his head against the window as the landscape blurred past.

_Hey, things aren't too bad, _Ben told him, undoubtedly trying to cheer him up. _Tayla's gonna be our mentor, right?_

Carter didn't respond for a while. _You know that we're going to die. _

Ben paused. _Don't give up. Not yet. We can do this, Carter. Everyone else just has themselves, but we have each other. We can win this thing._

_ Don't try to be optimistic. It's not helping._

_ I'm planning it out, Carter! We can form an alliance with a bunch of kids from the outer districts and take down the Careers. It'll work!_

"I'm not doing that," he snapped out loud.

The girl sitting beside him, Odetta, gave him a strange look. "What?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Just talking to myself." He definitely did _not _want to let any other tribute find out about Ben.

_Great. Now she thinks you're a weirdo. We might've convinced her to join the alliance, too…_

_ Will you just shut up? _Carter mentally hissed.

Ben didn't reply. Carter hoped he hadn't hurt his feelings—the two had a good relationship and rarely argued. But this was the Hunger Games, and if the two of them had different strategies… things wouldn't work out very well.

Carter's mind was quiet. Sometimes he had wished that Ben could go away, that he would be normal. But right now? What Ben had said was right. They were lucky to have each other for now.

For once, the silence in his head didn't seem so peaceful.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Here's a question to answer in the reviews- which of the tributes do you feel most emotionally attached to so far (excluding your own, of course)?

Anyway, I'm going to be in Mexico for a week starting tomorrow, so it'll be a while before I post the next Reaping. Sorry about that!


	11. District Ten: To the Grave

**A/N:** Putting this at the beginning since it's been so long since I've last updated. I know it's been a super long time, and I'm really sorry! I've been caught up in school and other commitments, and I simply haven't had time to write. Rest assured, though, I haven't disappeared, and I'm going to continue this!

If you are still following this story, please, please, **please **review to let me know that you're still reading. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any point in continuing to write, would there? Anyway, I'll be updating sponsor points soon.

One more thing- I desperately need a D9 male tribute. I don't care how many other tributes you've submitted- just PM me if you're willing to submit. You don't even have to fill out the whole form if you don't feel like it, I just need a tribute with a personality and a backstory.

Thanks so much for your continued support!

* * *

_**District Ten Reaping: To the Grave**_

* * *

**Lynnelle Maryas, District 10**

* * *

_A hard hand rapped twice on the door. Mabella Maryas frowned and gingerly pulled the door open only to be greeted by a group of ten Peacekeepers, stark white uniforms perfectly crisp, guns slung at their sides. "Wha—what do you want?"_

_ The leader spoke, his face composed in a tight, emotionless mask. "We are here to seize Darrel Maryas. He is under charges of breaking and entering and thievery. Any resistance will not be tolerated."_

_ Mabella paled noticeably, turning white as a sheet. "I'm afraid he's not here. He's… working."_

_ The man folded his arms. "Then we will find him, wherever he happens to be. If we find that you have not been truthful, punishment will be inflicted on your family."_

_ Mabella began to tremble slightly. "What will happen to him?"_

_ The Peacekeeper's mouth was set in a hard, thin line. He didn't reply._

* * *

_ Two figures stood entwined in the dying light; one large, one small. A father was embracing his child._

_ Eleven-year-old Lynnelle couldn't stop herself from crying. She had lived in District 10 all her life. Long enough to know what happened when the Peacekeepers came after someone. She clung to her father with a vicious grip, unwilling to let him go. Unwilling to let the moment pass. She knew that it would be over all too soon, and later on she would replay it in her head, regretting all the words she had left unsaid._

_ Darrel, too, drank in the moment. He gently pried his daughter's arms from his shoulders and held her at arm's length, studying her every feature. She had pleasant features, many of which had been inherited from him. The big blue eyes. The slender nose and oval-shaped face with a pointed little chin. However, her hair was raven-black. Its color created an eerie effect when combined with her light eyes. _

_ He wanted to commit her face to memory. To take it with him to the grave._

_ The faraway sound of boots clomping against the ground came into earshot, and Darrel paled, squeezing Lynne's hand._

_ "Don't go, Daddy!" she screeched, eyes frantic with fear. "Don't let them take you!"_

_ "Shh, shh," he quickly hushed her. "You need to listen to me right now, Lynne. You're strong. I know you are. So I need you to help the family when I'm gone. Don't let Mom and Eve starve. Do you understand me?"_

_ She gave a small, tight nod, her teeth clenched against her lip._

_ "Good." He gently swept her hair out of her eyes and lightly kissed her forehead._

_ The Peacekeepers came into view, a sea of white against the backdrop of the pink-tinted sky. Their marching feet beat a deadly rhythm on the cobblestone road. They grew closer and closer until their leader seized Darrel's arm._

_ "Go home!" he screamed to Lynne, desperation in his blue eyes. He couldn't let her see this. "Run home to Mom and Eve!"_

_ Sobbing, Lynne obediently rushing off in the opposite direction, tangled hair flying into her face and she sprinted along. She tripped numerous times, scraping her stubbly knees against the ground, but she didn't care. All she knew was that she had to run, to do what her father had asked._

_ She didn't run far enough. Not far enough to escape the sound of a lone gunshot echoing through the streets._

* * *

A girl crept along the streets, the long shadows obscuring her slim figure. Darting from storefront to storefront, she moved lightly, her small feet silent against the pavement.

She always remained several yards behind the overweight man dressed in extravagant clothing, biding her time. There was an art to her craft, and it required a good deal of patience.

_There. _A pushy merchant was stepping in front of him, shoving her wares in his face. Lynne ran towards the man, bumping into him from behind. "Oops, sorry," she breathlessly apologized.

Looking harried, the man barely even noticed her interruption. That was the idea. He paid her no heed as she scurried away, back towards home.

Later on, he might notice his missing purse and remember her.

But by then, it would be much too late.

* * *

Eve and Lynne were sitting at the table finishing up their homework when Mabella Maryas came in, looking weary. She was fortunate enough to have a job tending to livestock in the pastures, but it still worked her to the bone.

Lynne shuddered, wondering how she would stand it if a member of her family worked in the slaughterhouse like most of the district. It was easy to tell who worked as a butcher—the smell of blood clung to them, staining their clothing and sticking to their skin.

"Long day?" Eve asked their mother.

Mabella just groaned. "You could say that again. They also didn't give me my wages, even though I was supposed to get paid today." She sighed. "I'm afraid that we'll have to go without dinner tonight."

"Actually, I don't think that'll be necessary," Lynne said quietly. Her mother and sister's heads swiveled to her questioningly.

Lynne casually dangled the purse in the air. "I found this lying in the gutter this afternoon. It's got a decent amount in it—enough to buy us food for the week."

Mabella gasped. "That's amazing! We can—" she stopped abruptly as common sense got the better of her. "Oh, Lynne. Don't think that you can trick me just because I'm tired."

"What are you talking about?" she snapped defensively.

"I know you didn't find a purse filled with money lying around in a gutter."

"Maybe I did," Lynne muttered. "Maybe you shouldn't question good fortune."

"Lynne," Mabella sighed. "When will you learn to stop stealing? You know what can happen. You know what happened to Dad."

Hot tears burned at the corner or Lynne's eyes at the memory. _But that's just it, Mom. You don't understand. He's the one who taught me to steal—and I promised him I'd take care of you guys. This is the only way I can do it._

She kept the thoughts bottled up inside her. "I know. I will. But just this once, can't we use it? The person who had it before doesn't need it. We have to eat."

Mabella bit her lip as she stared at her daughters' skinny frames. At the bones that poked out everywhere on them. "All right," she reluctantly agreed. "Just this once."

* * *

**Flint Hamilton, District 10**

* * *

The moon was long out and glowing white when the boy sat up in his bed, hurriedly getting to his feet and changing into suitable clothes. Moving quickly and quietly, he slipped out of his room and into the hallway—and nearly ran into the slight figure of a young girl.

Her white-blond hair hung in thin strands past her shoulders, pale in the moonlight, and her light blue eyes pierced through him accusingly. Her mouth, set in a tight line, quivered slightly.

Flint started, staring at his younger sister. Quickly gathering himself, he plastered a huge fake grin on his face. "Becca! What're you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you," she breathed innocently, her voice sweet as honey.

Flint cursed under his breath and ran his fingers through his short blond hair. "You know what's up."

Rebecca didn't budge. "Sure do, but Mom and Dad don't."

"Fine," he sighed reluctantly. Heading back into his room, he rummaged around in his closet until his fingers found a crumpled plastic package. "Here you go. The frosting is gonna glue that little mouth of yours shut, okay?"

Her eyes immediately lit up, and she grabbed the package from him, pulling two thin cookies coated with an excessive amount of melted frosting out and shoving them into her mouth. "S'all good," she mumbled through the mouthful of food.

With a satisfied smirk, Flint silently exited the house.

* * *

Flint heard the noise almost as soon as he stepped out of the house. The clamor of voices shouting, laughing, chattering, and singing immediately floated into earshot, causing him to wince slightly. _Couldn't they be a little more subtle?_

He quietly followed the sounds until a dark figure burst out of the shrubbery in front of him, causing him to stumble backward in surprise.

"Flint!" The figure burst into laughter, slapping an arm against his back. "It's about time."

"Did you have to do that, Trev?" Flint complained. "And sorry. I got held up."

"C'mon. Everyone's here already."

Trevor dragged him into the wide clearing, and the people came into view. Someone was playing the guitar, and people were laughing, dancing, talking. "Dang," Flint murmured. "Nice crowd tonight." There had to be almost a hundred kids—the largest party Flint had seen.

Trevor nodded. "Yeah. Maybe it's the timing—night before the Reaping. Could be the last time you get to see your friends."

Flint punched him on the arm. "Way to be morbid."

Trevor just gave him a mockingly predatory grin.

A group of guys headed over to them, joking among themselves. "Hey Flint, Trev," greeted Mike, a tall 15-year-old with a mop of red hair. "This is Brayden—it's his first time, so be nice, 'kay?"

He gestured towards a scrawny, nervous-looking kid beside him. "Hi," Brayden said, fidgeting slightly. "Um… you guys sure that we're not gonna get caught or anything?"

"Course not," Trevor airily reassured him. "We've had dozens of these before, and nothing's ever happened."

"I dunno," Brayden shrugged. "Couldn't someone hear?" Suddenly he paled. "Do you guys hear something?"

"Uh, people talking?" Trevor snickered. "You're delusional, kid."

But then Flint heard it, too—footsteps, lots of them, clomping on the dusty path. "I think he's right."

"Aw, c'mon, you too, Flint? Don't tell me Brayden's getting to you."

Flint didn't answer; his senses were on overdrive. They were getting louder, louder—

Then the first group of Peacekeepers emerged from the trees. Garbed in their usual white uniforms with guns hanging at their sides, they looked rather bedraggled from being woken in the middle of the night. But their expressions were steely, and Flint knew that there would be no mercy that night.

As the Peacekeepers spread out and advanced, people started to scream. Trevor paled and swore under his breath, darting off in the opposite direction. Kids were fleeing through the trees, Brayden was wringing his hands and whimpering, but Flint stood rooted to the spot, frozen.

_How could this have happened? Someone must have raised a noise complaint, or they might have heard us—_He immediately snapped out of his reverie as a Peacekeeper latched onto his arm.

Flint cried out in fear and surprise, trying to wrench his arm away, but the man's grip was like iron. Flailing and kicking desperately, he caught sight of Trevor's dark head as his friend ran away. "Trevor! Help!"

Trevor's head swiveled backwards, but there was unspoken apology in his eyes. He turned his head back and kept running.

"No," Flint whispered brokenly, crumpling to the ground. Of course _he _would be the one to get captured, out of everyone else. He'd always had rotten luck.

Maybe a dozen other teenagers hadn't escaped, and as a group of the Peacekeepers pursued the runaways, Flint and the others bowed their heads in misery.

* * *

Flint's cell was decent enough, not that _that _was any comfort. It had a smooth floor covered by rough carpet and concrete walls with a cement bench. He was sitting, pressing his hands against the cool surface, as millions of thoughts raced through his head.

He wouldn't be kept in jail for long—maybe a few weeks, tops. He was probably on charges of disturbing the peace or something of the sort, but charges didn't make any difference to the Head Peacekeeper. Though the man was relatively fair, Flint could be kept in jail until he was released. There was no sentence, no trial, no leniency because of his age.

Flint reluctantly curled up on the hard bench, trying to get some rest, but he couldn't sleep.

_The Reaping. _It was the next day—or technically _that _day, seeing as it was certainly past midnight—and all children between the ages of twelve and eighteen had to attend, regardless if they were currently in jail or not. He would be released for the hour or so that the Reaping lasted, and he would probably be able to see his parents. Had a Peacekeeper alerted his family about his arrest yet? His cheeks flushed in shame as he imagined how disappointed and upset his parents would be.

Then another thought rushed through his mind. The Reaping… he remembered that the tributes who were usually chosen were never model citizens. They were always the troublemakers—the drunks, the ones who loudly insulted the Capitol, the ones who _landed themselves in jail. _Were the Reapings rigged? And if so, had they already decided whose name would be pulled out of the bowl, or was there still time to pick a recent prisoner?

His heart began to race as he imagined the possibilities, and soon his body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He could see the escort reaching into the bowl, pulling out the slip of paper, reading the name—"_Flint Hamilton."_

Needless to say, he didn't get a wink of sleep that night.

* * *

**Lynnelle Maryas, District 10**

* * *

The morning of the Reaping, bright and early. For once, Lynne's stomach wasn't rumbling with hunger—they had eaten much better than usual the night before, thanks to the pilfered purse.

In the bed beside her, Eve stirred. It would be her older sister's last Reaping, and Lynne couldn't help but feel slightly envious. Eve would have it easy after today—no more worrying and waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, no more living in fear of being reaped.

Sighing, Lynne got to her feet, picked out her clothes, and stepped into the bathroom to change. She pulled on a purple blouse (one of Eve's old ones, it was worn and fraying) and a plain black skirt. As always, she wore her dark brown combat boots, which she had meticulously polished a few days ago. It made for a strange combination, but she couldn't care less.

Stepping back, she glanced back into her bedroom at the sleeping forms of her mother and sister. Inwardly, she prayed the day would go well.

With that, Lynne stepped out the door into the fresh morning air. She would go acquire a few more wallets to calm her nerves before the Reaping.

* * *

"The time has come to choose our tributes," Kyote's voice blared over the microphone. She was just as… striking as all of the other escorts, with bright, neon green hair and green tattoos swirling across her whole body, but she wasn't as gushy or enthusiastic as the rest. She actually frightened Lynne—when she spoke about the Games, a ferocious glint would creep into her catlike eyes.

"I'll pick the male tribute first." Lynne sucked in her breath as Kyote walked to the huge glass bowl in her pointy heels. "Flint Hamilton!"

All eyes turned to a pale boy with spiky blond hair in the sixteen-year-olds section. A hush fell over the crowd as Flint sucked in his breath and wobbled up to the stage.

"Oh," Sable, Lynne's closest friend, breathed in her ear. "He was one of the ones who was arrested last night."

Lynne blinked at Sable. "What?"

"Didn't you hear? There was a party, and the Peacekeepers came and broke it up. They arrested about ten kids."

"Oh." Lynne winced, suddenly glad for her aversion to parties. "That—" she quickly shut her mouth as Kyote reached her hand into the other bowl. "Lynelle Maryas!"

Time stood still. Lynne couldn't breathe as every fifteen-year-old's eyes swiveled sympathetically to face her.

_Go up, _some distant part of her mind willed her. She could feel a sob rising in her throat, but she forced it down.

"Congratulations, Lynne," Kyote said, grinning wickedly. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your District 10 tributes!"

* * *

Everything went by in a blur as Lynne was escorted to the Justice Building and bade tearful goodbyes to her friends. But then Mabella and Eve came in, and her hands suddenly began to shake violently as they cried and hugged her. All she could see was her father, holding her in her arms and giving her final instructions.

"_Lynne, you're strong. I know you are. So I need to you help take care of the family. Don't let Mom and Eve starve. Take care of them!"_

He told it to her over and over again. Then the Peacekeepers were dragging him, pulling him away from her, holding a gun to his head, and he was screaming. _"Take care of them, Lynne! Don't let them starve!"_

How was she supposed to do that if she died in the Hunger Games?

As soon as the last of her visitors left, she was escorted to the train, where Flint was already seated. Lynne was in no mood to talk.

He was still pale as a sheet and trembling slightly, muttering under his breath.

"What the heck are you doing?" Lynne asked him shakily.

His head shot up, and his light blue eyes piercing through her sharply. "They're _rigged,_" he hissed vehemently. "The Reapings are rigged!"

Lynne just stared.

"I was arrested yesterday, and because of that, they branded me as a troublemaker. So of course, they pulled my name out of the bowl."

"Well, isn't that sort of your fault?" Lynne snapped, more snidely than she'd intended.

"My fault?" he snarled. "There were a hundred other people at that party. It was just bad luck. And don't go telling me that _you're _a perfect little angel, darling. After all, you were reaped, too."

Lynne pondered his words in silence. Was Flint right? Had she been reaped because the Peacekeepers had somewhat gotten wind of her thievery? Had they remembered what happened to her father and chosen her because of him?

Sighing, she rested her head in her hands. It didn't matter why she'd been reaped.

All that mattered was that, by some miracle, she had to win the Hunger Games.


	12. District Eleven: Something Beautiful

_**District Eleven Reaping: Something Beautiful**_

* * *

**Dorrin Thyme, District 11**

* * *

He heard her screams echoing around the alley walls, and then, in an instant, they were gone. It was Julia. He knew it without a doubt.

The fear started in his stomach and spread, rising up into his throat and coursing through his veins until it consumed him. And he was running, his footsteps clattering against the stone and resounding throughout the lonely streets, attempting to follow the fading sounds of her pained cries.

He turned the corner and saw her, splayed out on the ground with crimson ribbons of blood trickling down her cheeks like tears. Rocky was standing over her. His fingers were curled around the leather hilt of a large, sharp knife, and a predatory grin stretched across his lips. "Let's end this now, sweetie. No more playin'."

Dorrin's world moved in slow motion as Rocky lunged toward her, knife pointed at her heart. Now he could see that she was sobbing, tears intermingled with the blood.

_"Stop!" _he screamed, willing his legs to move faster, but it was too late. Rocky's knife slid into her heart and then back out again, stained maroon with her blood. A deep, shuddering gasp escaped from her.

"Julia!" the cry tore from his lips, but in his heart he knew that she was gone. Already her eyes were beginning to glaze over as she drew her last breaths.

"Oh, look who turned up. Big cousin Dorrin here to save the day, hm?"

"You little—" Dorrin snarled, surprising the smug boy with a tackle fueled by rage and grief. By some miracle, the knife clattered from Rocky's fingers as he fell, and Dorrin lunged for it, but Rocky was faster.

Rocky swore and flipped Dorrin over, pulling himself to his feet and brandishing his knife. "Think I'm gonna go that easy? Tough luck."

Dorrin fought to keep the sudden wave of tears from spilling out of his eyes. He wouldn't give Rocky that satisfaction of seeing him cry. "You _killed _her," he moaned brokenly.

"You just realized that? If you wanted to stop me, you should've helped her pay off Westfield. Too late now. But _you_, buddy, you've paid your debts, so I'm not technically supposed to harm you."

Bile rose in Dorrin's throat, and he spat at Rocky's feet. The boy ignored him.

"No," he leered, pushing his face close to Dorrin's. His dark eyes glinted wickedly. "No, I'm going to arrange a much more entertaining way for you to die."

* * *

Dorrin's eyes flew open and he shuddered, icy chills running down his spine. Forcing the panic in his chest down, he wiped the moisture out of his eyes and propped himself up against his headboard. Every night he had the same dream. Every night the worst day of his life replayed in his head.

His reaction generally came in stages—first, when the shock and grief were still fresh, he would remember how Julia's innocent features had contorted in fear and pain, and the tears would stream down his face. Then he pulled himself together and cursed Rocky to the deepest pit of hell. But then he always remembered the ending of his dream, Rocky's ominous threat, and he would shiver, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He was a coward, and he hated it, but he couldn't get over his very rational fear.

It was partially because the general populace of District Eleven had been trained to fear and respect Mr. Westfield and his group of hulking minions. Old Mister Westfield was one of the richest people in the district, though he took up residence in a large, battered old house at the outskirts of the district. Apparently his wealth was insufficient for him, because his paid hit men—usually muscular teenagers—would routinely go around collecting 'tribute' from the already-impoverished citizens. Nobody knew why Westfield demanded so much money, but general consensus was that he was just a terrible, greedy human being. Not that anyone said that to his face—the old man rarely exited his home.

The poorest of the poor had no means to pay him off, and if that was so, they were usually granted a short extension. No one but the bankrupt refused when Westfield's boys came calling, because everybody knew the price of rebellion. Almost everyone, at least…

Dorrin's uncle's wages from the fields weren't enough to keep his large family fed. Though Dorrin's father had begged him not to, the man had refused to pay up, bringing threats from Westfield's boys. Dorrin had patrolled their house to make sure all his cousins stayed safe, but Julia had been lured away by Rocky as she was coming home from school.

He remembered how Rocky, smirking darkly, had run away, leaving Dorrin to pick up his cousin's broken, bloodied body and carry her home. How he had been forced to stand there and tell her family what happened, how he had been forced to admit that he had failed. He hadn't been able to keep her safe. He remembered the tears, the screams, the grief…

His uncle had run to Westfield's house the next morning to pay, lest any other of his children be harmed. But the price had been paid, and there was no going back. Every day, Dorrin missed Julia's laughter, the way she skipped on her way to school, the gentleness with which she handled her old dolls.

One day, he would make Westfield and his boys pay for what they had done, for how they had made the whole district suffer. He would tear them down from their pedestal. Maybe then he would stop having to look over his shoulder. Maybe then his nightmares would disappear.

* * *

**Ivy Reynolds, District 11**

* * *

Ivy hurriedly stuffed her books into her bag and flew out of the tiny schoolroom. She didn't want to screw up her daily routine, especially not the day before the Reaping. It would be bad luck.

Holding her breath, she rounded the bend in the dirt path and looked ahead. She relaxed—sure enough, Destiny was already there, loping slowly along with her straight black hair swishing gently across her shoulders. Ivy ran forward until she was a few paces behind the broad girl and then slowed, her short legs moving to match Destiny's stride. And she watched.

Destiny stopped after a few minutes, her eyes following a small orange butterfly that lazily fluttered across the road. As it alighted on a bright dandelion flower, Destiny crouched beside it, careful not to let her shadow disturb the insect. She studied its little patterned wings in wonder, cocking her head to the side slightly. Ivy watched, intrigued.

Everybody in the district knew Destiny's story. Her father had left her mother before she was born, and when she was only four years old, her mother disappeared. _Suicide, _everyone whispered, though nobody could say whether it was from a broken heart or because she didn't want to face the daunting task of raising her daughter.

Destiny was taken care of by her frail, aging grandmother. Ruth Lemez was the sweetest woman in the district, and she lavished love upon her granddaughter. Ivy could see how much the two cared about each other.

Destiny sighed in disappointment as the butterfly flew away and continued to lumber forward, eyes roving the sides of the path for any new excitements. Ivy fell behind her again.

The other girls mocked Ivy sometimes for her fascination with Destiny, just like they mocked the girl herself. _Stupid, _they would snicker from the shadows whenever they talked about Destiny. _Sick in the head. Idiot. _They would stare at Ivy wonderingly and ask her why she was so fascinated with the girl. She just shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

It was no use trying to explain it to them; they would never understand. Destiny was simple, yes, but there was something beautiful about the way she could stare at a butterfly in wonder. About how her entire face would light up whenever she saw something new or when she successfully tied her shoe. About the innocent, loving way she would hug her grandmother. It was as if there was something special about Destiny, something that maybe everyone in the world had once had but lost. Ivy couldn't quite put it into words, but it was that unique quality that made Ivy walk home from school right behind Destiny every day. It was why Ivy's eyes were always drawn to her wherever they were.

Ivy had never spoken a word to Destiny Lemez in her life, but somehow she felt as if she knew her better than anybody else in the world.

* * *

**Destiny Lemez, District 11**

* * *

Destiny tugged at the neck of her stiff, starched dress. She had already worn it for a few Reapings, and it was uncomfortably small on her large body. "Don't like it," she whimpered sadly.

"I know, baby," Grammie said gently. "You won't have to wear it for long. I promise. Come on, now, we'd better get going." She took Destiny's hand and led her out of their little house.

"Story?" Destiny asked hopefully. She could see the anxiety in her grammie's eyes, and it made Destiny worry, too. She knew the Reaping wasn't a happy day because it always made Grammie look like this.

"Alright." Grammie smiled, and some of the tension eased from her face. She proceeded to weave a tale of a frog who liked to wear hats and sing, with Destiny giggling wildly throughout the whole story. "Shhh," she whispered gently as they reached the marketplace. She stood on her toes to embrace Destiny before sending her off. "Stand over there, Destiny. With the other fourteen-year-olds."

Destiny reluctantly left her grandmother's side and headed into the throng of teenagers. The children scooted away from her when she stood. To her left, a girl coughed delicately. She blinked and glanced over, recognizing the girl as the Bird Girl. Her hair was the same color as the large, loud crows that hopped around the schoolyard searching for crumbs. The Bird Girl wasn't very nice—she was always scowling at Destiny.

She looked around and finally spotted the distinctive red locks of the Girl with the Pretty Hair in one of the younger sections. _That _girl seemed nice.

Destiny sighed. The fabric of her dress was itchy against her skin, and she longed to take the offensive garment off. But Grammie didn't like that and said she couldn't take off her clothes when there were other people around, so she didn't. All she wanted was to make Grammie happy with her.

She wrinkled her nose as the district escort hopped up to the microphone. What was he wearing? He looked like a clown. She laughed softly, causing everyone around her to glare.

He talked animatedly for a while, but she didn't understand anything. It got very quiet when he walked up to a huge glass bowl and pulled out a little piece of paper. "Corey Thyme!"

The crowd murmured as a scrawny boy slowly walked up to the stage, his skin pale despite his olive complexion. The boy couldn't be older than twelve or thirteen.

"Wait!" a lone voice cried out. "I… I volunteer for Corey." A larger boy stepped up to the stage, his body trembling slightly. Corey's eyes widened, but the other boy gently pushed him backwards.

"Oh," the escort murmured, flustered by the sudden turn of events. "Well, alright then. What's your name, son?"

"Dorrin." The boy said quietly. "I'm Dorrin Thyme." The audience was silent. This was the first District Eleven volunteer in… well, actually, this was the first District Eleven volunteer. Ever.

There was a moment's pause as the escort stood there awkwardly, but he quickly pulled himself together. "Congratulations, Dorrin! And now…"

Destiny was shuffling her feet in boredom when she suddenly heard her name. Her head snapped up in confusion—who was calling her? It didn't sound like Grammie.

"Destiny Lemez!" It was the clown. She frowned; everyone was staring at her.

"Destiny, baby," she heard Grammie say. Grammie's voice was shaking, and she didn't like that. It didn't sound right. "Go up on the stage."

She didn't want to, not in front of all these people, but if that was what Grammie wanted, she would do it. She trod up to the stage next to the clown and the pale boy, aware of everyone's eyes on her.

"Thank you," the clown said, sounding relieved. "Shake hands, now." Dorrin reluctantly stuck out his hand towards her, and she stared. What did he want her to do?

The clown coughed, and Dorrin gently reached out and took her hand, pumping it up and down. She frowned and pulled away the moment he released her.

"Ladies and gentleman, I present to you your District Eleven tributes!"

* * *

**Ivy Reynolds, District 11**

* * *

"No," Ivy whispered over and over again to herself. "No, no, no." There were so many other people who deserved to go up on that stage more than Destiny. The thought of having to watch her die… it sickened Ivy.

In an act of impulse, Ivy hurried down to the Justice Building where Destiny was saying her goodbyes. She had to say something, offer some comfort. She couldn't let Destiny leave without talking to her.

When she came to the right door, there was already someone in the room with Destiny. She heard Ruth Lemez's voice, and with her breath caught in her chest, she peeped in the room through the crack between the door and the wall. Ruth was hugging her granddaughter and sobbing quietly. "I love you so much, Destiny. Don't forget that. You're going to have to go away for a while, and I can't come with you. Whenever you feel scared or hurt, just remember me. I'll always be watching out for you, baby…" her sobs overcame her, and Ivy jumped away as Peacekeepers walked past her and entered the room. One cast her a disapproving look.

"I love you!" Ruth cried as she was pulled out of the room. "Destiny, Destiny…"

Ivy hesitantly stepped into the room. Destiny was seated on a chair looking frightened and confused, her thick fingers brushed over the plush fabric of her chair. "I know you," she brightened when she saw Ivy. "Girl with the Pretty Hair."

"That's what you call me?" Ivy said, surprised. She unconsciously raised her hand to her waves of hair. She'd always hated the bright red shade of her hair, so different from the dark browns and blacks of the other people from District Eleven. But Destiny thought it was pretty. "Thank you."

"You walk behind me," Destiny said suddenly.

"Yeah," Ivy said, amazed that she had noticed. She gently reached out and put her hand on Destiny's arm, hoping the girl wouldn't flinch. She didn't. "Every day, huh?"

Destiny nodded. Ivy wasn't sure what to say. Did Destiny even understand what it all meant? That she was going to the Hunger Games? Surely she knew something was wrong; her eyes were filled with a deep sadness Ivy had never seen.

Ivy choked up. "It'll be okay, Destiny," she said, squeezing her hand. "It'll be okay." She knew how much of a lie that was, but how was she supposed to explain everything?

"Bad," Destiny said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. A single tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. "Bad, bad, bad, bad…" she repeated the word over and over again under her breath.

"It is," Ivy said quietly. "It is bad."

* * *

**Dorrin Thyme, District 11**

* * *

Corey was miserable, just like Dorrin knew he would be. His parents were devastated. He couldn't explain to them why he had done it, but he thought his uncle understood. Julia's death had already been his fault. If there was anything he could do to prevent the death of another of his cousins, he would gladly do it.

_You did the right thing, _he told himself. And he knew it was true, deep in his heart. But he still wished that someone's name besides Corey's had been drawn…

A thought suddenly made him stiffen. Rocky's threat… could Mr. Westfield influence the mayor? The Capitol, even? He certainly had enough money to. Had they arranged the choosing of Corey's name, knowing that Dorrin would volunteer in his place?

Dorrin let his head drop into his hands. He didn't want to think about it. Not now.

A knock on his door surprised him. All his family and friends had come to say goodbye, so who was this?

Ruth Lemez entered. She was a mess, with her hair tangled and her eyes red. His sorrow only deepened by looking at her. "What is it?" he asked, the words coming out sharper than he had intended.

She winced. "Dorrin, I realize that this is going to sound selfish, but I have to ask you something."

He waited.

Ruth sighed. "Destiny was… is my life. She means everything to me and I… well, frankly, I know that there's no way she's going to win." She sounded on the verge of tears. "But please take care of her. Please don't let her die a horrible death. She doesn't deserve that." Ruth was weeping silently now, tears falling down her cheeks and onto the carpet.

Dorrin looked at the ground. He had already sacrificed himself for Corey. Destiny would only hamper him, and he needed to try to survive the Games.

But… he thought about Destiny's innocence, the way she had stared at his hand confusedly, not knowing what shaking hands was. How could he turn down a request like Ruth's?

"All right," he said gruffly. "I'll try to take care of her."

"Thank you," she whispered. "And...I'm sorry. So sorry." She stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

* * *

Dorrin sat in the seat beside Destiny on the train. Her eyes were wide as she took in all the finery; she stood up with her hand outstretched, trying to touch the elaborate crystal chandelier above the dining table. Dorrin gently pulled her back down. "Don't touch that, Destiny. It's sharp."

"Oh." She sat quietly for a minute, then turned towards him, her eyes filled with tears. "Dorrin?"

"Yes?"

"I miss Grammie."

For a moment Dorrin was overcome with emotion. Destiny would never see her grandmother again. He took her hand. "It's okay," he said. "I miss my family, too." Inwardly, he made a decision: he would try his best to protect Destiny, no matter what the cost was. She deserved to get home to Ruth. How could the Capitol even let a girl like Destiny take part in the Games?

"Bad," she muttered, as if reading his thoughts.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "We'll get through this. One way or another."

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

They sat together silently, waiting as the train took them to a frightening new world.

* * *

**A/N: **Gosh, it's been a while since I've updated, and I'm sorry about that. D: I'm still alive! I would say that I'll be updating more frequently, but now that school's started, I can't make any promises. I'll try my best, though. Also, sorry if my OCs start to deteriorate... I'm running out of good ideas. Please review~ I'm updating sponsor points as I write this, and remember, I still need a D9 male (seriously. You don't want to see another OC from me; I'm dry). Thanks so much for sticking with me!


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